


Give up the Ghost

by AvaMclean



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, Wishes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaMclean/pseuds/AvaMclean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a day in the life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerrykhat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykhat/gifts).



Title: Give up the Ghost  
Chapter 1: a day in the life  
Disclaimer: #442 sidekick @ tamingthemuse  
Rating: FR13  
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Alpha and Omega Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended. 

Summary: Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.

* * *

The steady stream of base from the speakers in the living room hurt her ears and made her smile. Leah Cornick enjoyed filling her home with music her husband loathed while he was out—and, sometimes, while he was in. It was the simple pleasures that brought the most joy when one’s life was extended beyond its intended time. She hummed along to one of the popular songs of today as she brought the knife through a cucumber to remove the ends. Sliding the bitter pieces to the side with the edge of the blade she brought it back to center and made quick work of the rest. 

The slices were added to the plate beside the carrots and tomatoes to be devoured momentarily. Bran was enjoying his son’s company at the moment which meant she could make her lunch in peace. There was no one there to insist she needed protein and then force it upon her. Leah liked meat, she _was_ a werewolf, but she also liked vegetables and fruit and things that hadn’t mooed before they expired. There had been a time once when she had to watch her figure and she’d learned to enjoy the food that didn’t go straight to her hips. She still enjoyed it. 

Leah turned to the sink and rinsed the knife before leaving it there to be cleaned with the plate later. She spun on her bare foot and made her way towards the massive refrigerator that dominated the kitchen. It was opened to reveal an overabundance of said meat, but along the inside of the door she located the hummus. Snagging the container she closed the door with a swing of her hip before turning back to the island.

She deposited the treat on the plate next to the vegetables, and it was a treat because Bran disliked the scent of hummus, but Leah enjoyed the salty flavor too much to simply give it up. Instead she waited until he was out and she had time to wash dishes and thoroughly brush her teeth before he returned—unless he’d done something stupid recently and then she’d more than likely leave the container open in the living room. That morning Bran had kissed her temple before he left for Charles’ which meant she’d clean up after this bit of alone time. 

Her wolf always wanted her to ignore the slights—one of the few things they disagreed on—but as far as she figured Bran shouldn’t have mated a woman such as herself if he wanted to be coddled. Leah sniffed out her irritation before curling into a corner of the couch and used a carrot stick to smear an obscene amount of hummus on a slice of cucumber. She crooned, delighted by the crunch of the vegetable and the smooth texture of the hummus. 

The carrot was devoured next as another mind-numbingly simple song came on and she sank deeper into the couch and her contentment. She was enjoying the sweetness of the tomatoes when she smelled something other than smashed chickpeas and spices. Her wolf slipped forward to crowd her thoughts and battle for control as she lowered the plate to the couch and stood. 

Retrieving the remote for the ottoman in front of her, she muted the music. The artist—Bran would argue against calling them that—was cut off mid-verse and the sudden quiet raised the hairs along the back of her neck. Leah’s head inclined, turning an ear towards the front door at her left. Her eyes fell closed as she, and her wolf, focused. 

The scent of blood—fresh and shallow—reached her first, but the stench of magic on the heels of that coppery tang stopped her from throwing open the front door and confronting the situation head on. Dark witches were messy business and this one that was willing to court death in the Marrok’s territory was either powerful or a complete idiot. 

Leah opened the connection between her and Bran and heard his surprised call of, “ _Leah?_ ” inside her mind. It comforted her to hear his voice, not that she’d ever _tell_ him that, and it helped calm the snarling wolf in her head and it was her wolf that sent her husband the stink of magic and blood. She felt his distaste, and his unease, and knew Bran, with Charles and Anna, were on their way. 

Snow crunched beneath two distinct footfalls outside the front of the house; one was awkward while the other surefooted. Leah looked towards the kitchen and the back entry to their home, but disregarded the thought of fleeing before it had fully formed since she’d never been a coward. Instead she stalked towards the front door and waited for the footfalls to reach it before flinging it open. A woman stood before her with wide coltish eyes in an annoyingly pretty face. 

A gaped mouth detracted from the attractiveness and, for the first time since becoming a werewolf, Leah hesitated in attacking weaker prey. She faked bravado and merely raised a brow at her before looking to her surefooted companion. Another woman, who was slightly taller but considerably thinner than the first, watched her with narrowed brown eyes. Something about her set Leah’s wolf on edge. She didn’t smell anything other than human, but Leah watched as her head inclined and the movement reminded her of the birds of prey featured in the nature shows Bran enjoyed. 

“B-Buffy?”

The witch’s choice of first words was confusion inducing and pulled Leah’s gaze away from her companion and her wolf growled a warning. She knew better than to take her gaze off the most dangerous thing in her vicinity and that growl trickled past her own lips. Those wide eyes filled with tears and Leah felt the oddest urge to comfort the witch. Her lips peeled back in distaste with the thought. She couldn’t smell the spell, but there had to have been one cast and she snapped, “Do you have a death wish?”

“You don’t recognize me? Of course you don’t,” she answered her own question with a shake of her head before muttering, “Dammit, D’Hoffryn.” 

Leah frowned at the witch that was speaking English and yet her words still lacked all facets of sense. Her gaze narrowed and flicked to the other woman as she stepped up to the entrance and those brown eyes studied her with an equal intensity. Leah’s chin lifted in challenge and she watched as a smile curved in the corner of her mouth. Wanting to wipe that smirk away Leah opened her connection to Bran wider and attempted to pull on his strength of will to make the other woman back down. 

Her smile only widened, no other reaction, and Leah’s wolf peeled back her lips to bare sharpening canines. The sudden scent of sage confused her and she sneezed as it overwhelmed her senses. It reminded her of the last time Bran had made braised chicken and dressing. He’d crushed the sage before using it and filled their home with the earthy scent and she felt Bran’s amusement with the memory. 

“I’m sorry.” She frowned and looked to the witch as the magic struck her and she staggered. Bran’s amusement faded beneath his rage and it consumed her too before he closed the connection between them with enough force that she fell to her knees. 

The birdlike woman entered her home and Leah or, perhaps more precisely, her wolf brought her up and onto her feet. She attempted to shake off the effect of whatever the witch had done, but her movements were sluggish and the other woman was stronger. Her elbow struck an incredibly hard chin, but she was forced to her knees and the struggle for dominance between them was over. It had been short—embarrassingly so—and tested the validity of Leah assuming her opponent was human and which of them was master. 

Slim fingers wound through her hair and directed her face towards the witch. She attempted to stand, but that hand in her hair held firm and the arm that fell across her chest was heavier than steel and three times as strong. She could feel her eyes bleed to wolf amber as she glared up at the witch stepping forward. She invaded her home and bent at the waist so that their gazes could meet. 

Leah saw pity there and it grated more than the thing at her back holding her immobile. The witch’s hand uncurled between them and the scent of sage was overpowering. A pile of dust was nestled within her palm and the vibrant blue hue was distracting a moment before it was blown into her face. She sneezed, again, and snarled at them, but the witch spoke, voice clear and directed towards her, “ _Memini._ ”

It was Latin, Leah knew that much, and that was her last thought before a searing pain spread across her mind and stole her breath. Her wolf howled in protest and for a brief moment she was able to spread that pain across the pack. She eased her own discomfort as the rest of the wolves absorbed it. 

Her next breath was a shuddering thing as she realized she was on the floor and curled on her side, but the sudden, and rather annoying, urge to protect the pack had her cutting herself off again. She’d never been the self-sacrificing type—she wasn’t that strong or that foolish—but her pack was gone and she was left alone to face the torrent of emotion. 

Her wolf was suppressed and beyond her reach. 

Leah was alone, for the first time in decades, within her own mind. 

Until that too became a lie and she lost herself to the dark.


	2. ill-mannered beasts

Title: Give up the Ghost  
Chapter 2: ill-mannered beasts  
Prompt: #443 wyrd @ tamingthemuse

* * *

Wind tangled her hair and burned her checks. The sting of it left her breathless and Anna would’ve found the run invigorating if she couldn’t feel Bran’s urgency through her connection to Charles and Brother Wolf. Bran’s connection to her and the pack was muted. He’d cut himself off so he didn’t spread his rage like wildfire through the rest of the misfits. Charles, however, knew his father well enough that Anna simply knew how desperate their alpha was and it forced her to run faster. Her own wolf lay curled within her abdomen, crouched low and loaded for bear. 

They’d leapt a fallen cypress with Bran several strides ahead when a white-hot pain speared through her wolf and into her. Anna stumbled, falling to her knees. The dense layer of leaves and slush cushioned the impact, but a cold dampness spread across her jeans and a few pine needles speared through the hole at the knee to scratch her skin. 

Charles was at her side, his face pinched with pain as he helped Anna back onto her feet and Brother Wolf shared with her, the both of them, a vision of the desert. For a brief moment the fall chill slipped away to be replaced by the heat of the sun and the scent of scorched earth. The image faded as did the pain and it left behind an ache that Anna had to force herself to shake off. She blinked the world back into focus and saw that Bran stood several meters away from them. 

Anna voiced her relief from the sudden onslaught, “Thank you.” 

Bran’s mouth thinned and she recognized that expression as one he and Charles shared. Father and son might not look entirely alike, but they still resembled one another from time to time. “That wasn’t me.” 

“It was Leah.” Charles corrected, helping Anna to her feet and leading them towards his father.

“It was,” Bran nodded, “Both times.” 

Anna shook off Charles’ arm and then gave it a reassuring pat before motioning them both forward with a sweep of her arm. “Then what are we waiting around here for?” She called on the strength of her wolf and the woods around her sharpened; the sudden clarity helped her focus. She met their gazes, knowing her eyes were now a brilliant blue, and ordered, “Go!”

Charles’ mouth quirked, amused by her directness, and Anna could feel Brother Wolf’s pleasure at her show of dominance before Charles did as ordered and led them into a sprint. Bran kept pace with her for a few strides, as if assuring himself that she was indeed fine, before outdistancing them both. Anna followed and the pain slid further away with each step. 

She did her best to keep up with them, Charles stayed within her eye line at all times, but soon Bran was only a scent on the wind. Anna kept the pace her wolf set and the trees blurred around her as she became less worried about the melting snow beneath her feet. There’d been a sudden flurry three days prior before the average temperature of a Montana fall returned to turn the white into a slushy mess. 

They escaped the trees only a mile from Bran’s home and Anna could see him in the distance. She pushed herself faster, more surefooted without the roots beneath her feet, and they caught up to him at the edge of the property. Bran reached the porch first and Anna slowed as she caught sight of several foot prints in the muck beneath their feet. All of them narrow and one set had a square heel that told her the owner of that boot was not familiar with Montana’s adverse weather. She wasn’t yet either, but even Anna knew better than to attempt fashionable footwear on this terrain. 

Leah wore them, but she’d lived through many a winter in these parts and had long ago learned how to balance precariously in heels. Anna was only a little envious of the ability, but even Leah avoided heels when the ground was slick beneath her feet. Charles turned to spare her a glance from his place beside Bran on the porch and she pulled herself free of her internal musings. 

The front door opened and Anna watched as Bran entered—except he didn’t.

Bran struck something solid in the door way that brought him to an uncomfortable looking halt and a growl trickled out from the furthest recesses of his throat. The sound of it made Anna swallow, fear tickling the back of her own throat, when she saw his eyes had bled to wolf. Charles caught the hand she reached out to him and his presence reassured her, but the mask he wore while on missions for the Marrok—not his father—had slid firmly into place. All trace of humor at her earlier train of thought had vanished. 

A bellow, filled with fury and the darkest of thoughts, made Anna’s stomach tighten while Bran struck at the frame of the door with the side of his fist. Charles’ grip on her hand helped her to step forward, take her place at Bran’s quivering back and create a united front against this newest threat. Bran glanced back, pale eyes narrowing on them and while Anna was familiar with the golden hue the rage she saw there was a different beast entirely. 

Bran usually resembled someone she would have taken a class with at Northwestern. Someone young and artistic, no different than the thousands of other students struggling with their GPAs. Chameleon thy name is Bran. That gentle façade had melted away beneath the force of his rage and Anna was reminded of the wolf she’d met while they’d faced Mariposa. 

As if by magic—thinking of one witch conjured another—and a woman filled the open entry. She smelt of blood and magic, but different enough that Anna frowned while Bran snarled. 

“Don’t bark at me!” was snapped at Bran and this witch stood before their Marrok with narrowed blue eyes and a stubborn lift to her chin that reminded Anna oddly of Leah. Her gaze lifted to take in Anna and Charles, who released her hand and took a step away from them, to give himself room to maneuver, before she looked back at Bran. “Who are you?” 

A shuddering breath escaped Bran, but his voice was steady, nearly calm, as he countered, “You are in my home, witch.” 

Anna followed Charles’ lead and took her own step back, allowing herself a chance to focus on the witch without the dominance of the other two interfering. She looked past the affronted witch—who apparently didn’t take kindly to being called a witch in that tone of voice—and saw another woman sitting on the ottoman between them and Leah’s prone form on the couch. Her chest rose and fell with shallow bursts of air and someone had rested her hands on her stomach. Anna focused on that touch of kindness rather than the rattle to Leah’s breathing. Anna bit the inside of her lip and before her wolf directed her attention back to the seated woman with the internal reminder of, “ _Not right_.”

Her hair was a muddy brown and darker brown eyes watched them with a curious light. Her wolf, still close to the forefront of her thoughts after the run, cautioned her that not all was as it seemed with that one. Anna saw a woman with tight slacks tucked into high boots—the heels she’d noticed in the slush—and pale features that were too angular to be considered beautiful in a conventional way. Not that Anna had any use for the conventional. The woman’s head inclined, loosely curled hair catching on the collar of a jacket, which wasn’t warm enough for a human, and it was buttoned tight around a thin frame.

“You’ve invaded my home and injured _my_ mate,” Bran’s tone was bland, but Anna understood the underlying threat just fine. 

She had to suppress her wolf so that she could turn her gaze from the odd woman to the witch. She’d pulled herself up taller under the Marrok’s threat—another oddity that—and Charles stepped closer to his father. It placed him somewhat in front Anna and she realized, perhaps belatedly, that his placement was in preparation to deflect any magic the witch might attempt. Brother Wolf shared with her the coppery tang of blood, but it wasn’t old and it carried with it the scent of the witch as if it were _her_ blood and not someone else’s. 

Brother Wolf’s pleasure with her deduction brought with it a rush of warmth and helped push her own fear further back. This knowledge of the witch’s power source being herself had Anna questioning if she was more like Moria, but Brother Wolf didn’t allow her thoughts to wander as he cautioned, “ _The other is the danger_ ,” which confirmed her wolf’s instincts. 

“ _Agreed_ ,” was shared readily with both Brother Wolf and Charles. 

“Your mate?” The witch brought Anna’s gaze back to her, but Charles—under Brother Wolf’s insistence—remained fixated on the other woman. “You’re her husband?” 

For all its simplicity the question felt a like a loaded one and it also gave credence to the thought that this witch hadn’t attacked Leah to spite the Marrok. Bran inhaled, scenting the air and the witch in front of him with a precision that worried Anna, but his voice had grown quiet, the growl leaking away as he confirmed, “I am Bran Cornick and this is my home that you have barred me from.” 

Charles shifted beside her and Anna had the sinking suspicion that a quiet Bran wasn’t necessarily a good thing. 

“You’ve already groused about that,” the witch huffed, “Several times. Excuse me if I’d like to avoid being mauled to death.” Anna frowned at the flippant retort, but she smelled the first stirrings of fear from the younger looking woman.

“I’ve no intention of mauling you.” That was the truth, but mostly because Anna imaged that Bran had something more visceral in mind for the witch that dared hurt someone who was his to protect. 

The witch scoffed and rolled her eyes before crossing her arms around her waist. It was a protective reaction and Bran’s head inclined. Anna was distracted by a flicker along the edge of her vision. “ _Something is there_ ,” her wolf shared and Anna allowed her gaze to blur and the entry came to shimmering life inside her mind. The barrier was filled with flickering lights that reminded Anna of fireflies that held a green caste to them. Anna stepped back, gaze still unfocused as she took in the entire house. She could see that the barrier encompassed every entry point and that it was connected to the witch by gossamer strings. 

Strings that resembled the ones connecting Anna to Charles and Bran and she reclaimed her spot beside Charles so that she could look in the home. Leah’s slumped form had numerous threads connecting her to the pack as well, but they were dimmer than Anna’s and she remembered how the pain had simply stopped earlier. She never would have assumed Leah could be altruistic. Shaking her head at the thought she noticed another, thinner thread, connecting Leah to the witch. It was a solid as the one that connected Leah to Bran and, for some reason, Anna found that reassuring. 

“Who are you?” 

Charles made the request of the witch, distracting his father whose breathing had calmed, but his heart still throbbed in his chest. The witch inclined her head, as if someone had finally asked the right question—and of course it was Charles. Anna suppressed the urge to smile and instead watched some of the anger leave the witch as she studied him a moment before stating, “Dawn Summers.” 

“Anna Cornick,” she supplied her name on impulse and the witch’s mouth quirked. 

The crunch of pine needles turned her head and Anna watched Asil make his way through the trees. He was alone which meant he’d ordered Kara to remain behind at his home and it had definitely been an order. Kara liked Leah. Anna wasn’t entirely certain why, but Bran assured her that Leah had been nothing but kind to the young wolf. In the distance she could hear the crunch of tires over the slush covering the road to the Marrok’s home. More of the pack was coming and Anna wasn’t sure that was a good thing. 

“Charles Cornick,” her mate took a queue from her and Anna saw he was finally meeting the witch’s gaze. “Why have you attacked our pack?” 

The witch studied Charles a moment, mouth pulling down into a frown before she shook her head. “I’m not attacking anyone,” Anna smelled the lie, Bran growled and the witch flinched—Anna assumed more with her poor choice of words than any threat they posed—and admonished, “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” the truth, “I would never knowingly hurt my sister.” 

Charles tensed beside them and Bran countered, “You’re a little young to be her sister and Leah was an only child.” 

“Of course she is.” A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner Dawn’s mouth. “Family, it’s all very violent and wyrd where the Summers women are concerned. And I mean wyrd in the oldest turn of the phrase.” She met Bran’s gaze, unflinching beneath his glare and not cowed in the least by his beast, “She is _my_ sister. All I have left in this world or the next.”

The last part of the statement inclined Charles’ head and Anna frowned at the implication as Bran argued, the words filled with his power to bring most others to their knees, “Leah is _mine_ to protect—”

“The sister I knew doesn’t need protection,” Dawn cut Bran off and Anna raised a brow at her ability to do so, “Never has and never will.” 

There was something ominous about that turn of phrase and Bran heard it too because he took a step closer to the entry. “Then she is not the sister you knew.” 

“She will be.”

+

The desert stood before her and a snow-laden forest howled at her back. Buffy Summers nee Leah Cornick—or was it vice versa? She wasn’t so certain it was that cut and dry—was unsure of her place. Unfortunately, this was nothing new and the duality of the dream certainly wasn’t helping matters. 

She’d started the dream with Leah’s wolf at her side, shadowing her movements as she trudged her way through the forest. The wind brought the leafless trees to shivering life, but she’d remained unaffected by the cold and by Leah’s memories attempting to anchor her down in the ever deepening snow. It was hard to admit that they were one and the same, but she’d been the same spoiled brat during her early days at Hemery. A quick temper and a quicker viper’s tongue—irrefutable evidence was a bitch like that and apparently so was she. 

The wolf, golden furred and amber eyed, had remained with her through the struggle of memories and biting wind. She’d remained a vigilant comfort at her side until they’d found the desert. The scent of scorched earth reached her first and she’d felt a trembling in her wolf. 

A shadow passed over those rolling hills of sun and heat and the wolf leapt into the sand, sprinkling it across Buffy’s face with a spastic flick of her tail. She left her human counterpart with the cold as she gave chase and was lost to the glint of the sun. Her coloring made it impossible to distinguish her from the dunes, but Buffy still searched for her. Unwilling to leave the burning cold of the forest behind she remained on the side that still held echoes of Leah. 

The shadow appeared at the top of the dune closet to her and there was a flash of gold and Leah’s wolf tackled it from the side. There was a clap of thunder and lightning arched outward from the desert turning the sky black. The shadow reemerged over the top of the dune and made its way downward. Its gaunt form had gone from bipedal to quadrupedal and Leah’s wolf did not reappear. 

It stalked down the dune and Buffy had the sinking suspicion that the misshapen shadow _was_ Leah’s wolf—or what was left of it. It had merged—just like she and Leah—but unlike Leah’s her beast had never had a form or a voice. For the first time since facing a hellgod Buffy faltered and took a step back in retreat, but it was too late. The shadow leapt from sand to snow.

She smelled ozone and felt the heat of the desert before it impacted. The shadow leached its way through her skin with the brush of fur and the sharp tearing pain of teeth. It sank deep and shook her awake. 

A strangled gasp escaped her and Buffy had a moment to suck in a second breath before the beast inside of her voiced its rage at still being captive by drawing a ragged scream from her throat. It sounded desolate to her own ears and she rolled off the couch to land in a defensible crouch. A tremble started in her arms and worked its way through her chest as the joints in her fingers popped. 

Unsure of the snarling thing inside of her and terrified to find out what it would do, what it would say, Buffy lifted her head to see a smirking Illyria—human façade more firmly in place than her own—and glared at her. She swallowed the waspish comment she had for the once-godling and instead focused her ire on Dawn, who was keeping out the one person she needed. 

“Dawn, drop the barrier,” the beast—she wasn’t sure what else to call it yet—howled in her mind and it filled the last word with power, “ _now!_ ”

Something tore in her throat from snarling a simple word and that power spilled outward to touch those closest to her. It flowed around Dawn and Illyria as if they were pebbles in a river. They affected the power, forced it to move around them, but it was utterly indifferent to them. Bran made it shudder and that pulled a needy sound from her throat. A sound that was more wolf than human and the world sharpened. 

The power brushed Charles and he locked it out, her small connection to him made smaller still, but she’d tasted his unease. The great Charles Cornick made wary by her—the smug smile that bared her teeth reminded Buffy that Leah was as integrated as the beast. 

She ruffled Anna’s fur—in the metaphorical sense—and her earthy scent calmed Buffy enough to slow her breath and gasp out, “I need Anna.” 

The Omega’s heart increased it’s already rapid tempo. Samuel’s comparison to a rabbit wasn’t that far off—not that he’d shared the comparison _with_ her. She’d just happened to be in the room when’d he’s spoken of it. Leah Cornick, mate to Bran and no more important than his furniture. Her irritation with her mate’s children fed the beast and stamped away all the good Anna’s scent had done and Dawn’s witchy mojo was still at work. The rest of the pack was beyond their home and drawing closer—bringing with them more irritants. 

“Now would be good,” her exasperated tone sounded suspiciously like Leah to her own ears. She looked to Illyria and her envious calm before snapping, “Go to Dawn,” and as an afterthought she added, “Try not to kill anyone.”

“Your debt to me grows by the day.” She rose and stepped around Buffy to claim a spot beside Dawn. Buffy avoided her sister’s searching gaze and watched Illyria catch Bran’s gaze unaffected. “You are her mate. Do you share in her debt?” 

It irked her to have someone challenge her husband so blatantly, but she managed a viper’s tongue over an incomprehensible growl. “My debts are my own, Illyria. As you well know and could we _please_ put the Machiavellian tendencies on hold for just a moment?” Her voice pitched low as she pleaded, “I really do need Anna.” She looked past Dawn and Illyria to address her husband. “Dawn is mine to protect.” 

She didn’t trust her beast to share things with him and instead pulled on Leah’s memories to share with him the image of Charles and Samuel before showing him Dawn. Dawn as a baby placed within her arms as she swore to keep her safe. Dawn calling her an insipid trollop at the tender age of ten. Dawn holding her after their mother died. Dawn gushing about her first date with a human guy. Their celebration of her getting into Oxford with too much of Giles’—

“ _Enough_.” The order stilled the torrent of memories for the both of them. “ _I won’t kill her just yet._ ”

That was as reassuring as Bran got when he thought someone posed a threat to the pack and the memories of Dawn had calmed her beast some. They were in perfect agreement that Dawn would be protected by them. Always. 

“ _Aperi!_ ”

More Latin. Fabulous. Dawn spoke it in a surprisingly normal tone, but the tone couldn’t hide the power behind it. The barrier collapsed with a fizzle that raised the hair along her arms and as far as she could recall Dawn had never been particularly adept at spells in the past. Her track record was as spotty as Willow’s. It forced her to look at her sister. Really look at her. She tried to look past the fact that she was a bit taller—how was that even fair—with curves that filled out her jeans and sweater in an enviable way. 

The face she remembered had been softer and now it more closely resembled their Aunt Arlene. The eyes were the same, big and blue and watching her as warily as ever. It almost made her smile as Anna and Charles made their way towards her and Bran settled himself between them. Buffy realized with a tired smile that her little sister looked older than her husband. 

It made her laugh and the beast popped the joints in her shoulders forward. Her laughter turned into whimper and Anna knelt beside her, hands hovering as if she were unsure where to touch or if she even should. “Please,” Buffy whispered and those hands settled on her shoulders, the touch lightening as the joints realigned beneath her hands. 

She slumped forward, half falling into Anna’s lap in relief as the beast quieted and the desert within her mind finally faded away. “Thank you,” she whispered against Anna’s jean-covered thigh, “Thank you.”


	3. they crave the same thing

Title: Give up the Ghost  
Chapter 3:they crave the same thing  
Prompt: #445 firebrand & #447 rhetorical question @ tamingthemuse

* * *

The scent of dry earth remained, but the wild scent—one that Anna associated with Asil from when she’d first arrived in Aspen Creek—had faded to the familiar menthol of most wolves. She assumed the menthol, which held a tingling sensation, was how their noses interpreted the magic that allowed them to change shape. Minty, with a bite that left her with the urge to rub her nose on her arm. 

Anna chose to rub soothing circles on Leah’s back instead. The skin beneath her fingers twitched, muscles working in tandem as the rest of her shivered and Anna knew it had little to do with the chill outside. She might not enjoy Leah’s company—or even like her for that matter—but the usually proud wolf had been reduced to trembles and she couldn’t take enjoyment in that. Charles would assume those feelings came from her status as an Omega, but Anna thought it had more to do with her being a decent person. 

Thoughts of her mate drew her gaze upward and she saw that his focus was divided between Dawn and the one Leah called Illyria. She followed his gaze to them and glared at the witch that had caused such an adverse reaction in the wolf in her lap. The thinner woman stood between Dawn and her pack, but the witch’s eyes, wide and filled with such sadness, were trained on Leah. Anna’s anger was appeased, marginally, by the grief she saw in those blue eyes, but her wolf was not so easily placated. 

She might’ve growled, but the weight in her lap shifted and returned her attention to Leah. Quivering arms lifted her into a seated position, but she still leaned heavily against Anna. She accepted the weight and spared another upwards glance to see Charles crouched behind them, between her and the window. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at his need to protect and while his expression never changed Anna could sense his displeasure with her amusement—which of course only amused her all the more. 

Brother Wolf still watched Illyria with wary eyes, the gold seeping through Charles’ brown, and he also seemed hesitant of Leah. That was different, but he was willing to allow Anna to help her. He knew her capable and more than willing to help others in their pack, but his loyalty was to his mate first and it didn’t help that he cared little for Leah. Anna was touched by the overprotectiveness of her mate and it warmed her and her wolf, but she caught one of Leah’s hands within her own just in case. 

The older woman met her gaze, green eyes boring into her own a moment, before they softened and she attempted a timid smile. “H-how’s your day going?”

The trembling of her form was echoed in her voice, but the question—so unlike Leah—made Anna smile in return. “Better than yours.” 

A line appeared between her brows and Leah looked to Bran, a pinched frown replacing that sweet smile, and Anna assumed he was doing his Marrok mind to mind magic. Her shaking subsided during the brief exchanged and Anna could now smell the slightest trace of Bran’s scent on Leah and Anna inclined her head with the thought that the connection between them might be helping. 

A car door slammed, making Leah tense and the shivering return, and the footfalls leading to the front door were more cautious than hurried. Asil kept his place in the doorway, leaning against the frame and straddling the entry so he was both inside and outside at once. His pose was casual, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Anna could see the tension in his shoulders and his handsome features were as blank as she’d ever seen them. Asil tended to carry with him a faint sadness that only receded when threatened or something amused him. The careful blankness was new and Anna didn’t welcome it in the slightest. 

He bared his teeth in a smile at their newcomer, which limited their identity to a select few, and Anna heard more car doors open and close as their pack arrived to fight a battle already won—or lost. Anna wasn’t certain on the outcome just yet. Sage winked at Asil as she passed him and took in the room and its occupants with a careful sweep of her artfully done eyes. Anna envied the precision of her eyeliner before Sage stalked into the room and placed herself between their group and the newcomers. 

The placement, similar to the Marrok’s, wasn’t lost on any of them before she looked down at Leah with something close to pity in her gaze. Her chin dipped before a smirk twisted her lips, and Anna flinched in preparation of what was to come, as Sage announced to the room, “Good to see queen bitch is still with us.” 

There was truth to her words, even the insult, but Bran’s eyes narrowed and he warned, voice mild, “Sage.” 

She spun on the heel of her boot—apparently Illyria wasn’t the only one willing to brave this terrain in them—and inclined her head to Bran in acknowledgement of his dominance. It was a meaningless gesture as far as Anna could tell since she knew Sage would antagonize Leah the very next chance she got, perhaps out of Bran’s earshot, but Leah always gave as good as she got. Bran’s mate could be counted on for clever rejoinders if little else. 

Leah was stiffened at her side, the trembling had faded beneath her anger with the barb, and the scent of wilderness was back, overriding the menthol to leave only a trace of other behind. Charles’ hands settled over Anna’s shoulders and tugged her backwards as Leah rose to her feet. Sage turned, sensing the threat at her back, and frowned at Leah. Her nostrils flared, scenting the air and those blue eyes widened, before Leah’s power swept outward. Again. 

It filled the house with a suffocating presence that drove Sage to her knees. Her chin lifted, throat bared to Leah in a subconscious gesture that was more real than one she’d presented to Bran moments ago. Anna remained standing behind her, with Charles gripping her shoulders and Bran watched his mate. His face drawn in thoughtful lines that were more considering than worried at the moment. 

Anna realized, perhaps a bit belatedly, that the familiar taste of Marrok’s power wasn’t present in Leah’s. It raised her brows and she looked to Asil for confirmation in what she sensed. He’d risen from his casual pose against the wall and was now watching Leah much the way he watched Charles from time to time. There was a canniness to his expression that said he was lost between amusement and distrust at this sudden show of power. 

The few pack members from outside the house made their way past Asil with a careful slowness, their heads bowed and bodies low to the ground. If they’d been in their wolf shape Anna was certain tails would’ve been tucked tight and bellies exposed as soon as they neared Leah. Only Eric—the arrogant wolf meant to learn manners from the Marrok—attempted to push himself up right. 

The struggle brought Leah’s focus from Sage to him and he dropped to the ground. Wolf or not, he rolled onto his back and bared his throat and belly as that wild scent sharped and Leah addressed him, biting out each word as if it hurt her to speak, “You. Hurt. Kara.” 

Bran’s eyes widened and he moved away from Dawn and the Other—Brother Wolf had her doing it now—taking a spot between Leah and the rest of the pack. He frowned at Charles and the grip on her shoulders tightened just a bit too much before they slipped away. Anna took a step forward, towards Leah as Bran settled his hands over her upper arms. 

It was a muzzling gesture disguised as a comforting one and Leah tilted her head. The long braid she wore her hair in rolled across her back and Anna slipped her hand beneath to lay a reassuring touch between her shoulder blades. Leah turned her face towards her, an achingly slow movement that made the hairs along Anna’s neck stand on end, and she swallowed when she saw the wolf staring back at her. Leah’s eyes had gone from green to rust colored and Anna frowned since she was certain Leah’s wolf was gold with a silver tint and her eyes were the usual amber.

Charles’ memories of his stepmother confirmed this and trepidation filled Anna, but she suppressed her unease and called on her wolf to give her the strength of will to keep her hand resting on Leah’s back. Her nerves settled and she drew small circles on the other woman’s spine with her thumb. Leah’s next breath was an uneasy exhale, her lashes falling against pale cheeks as her power dissipated. It left behind several wolves sagged against the Persian carpet and Tag was the first to peek out from beneath his orange dreads. 

Anna shook her head and he pressed his forehead back to the carpet before she directed her gaze back to Bran. “I think Leah needs a moment to collect herself,” she could feel Leah’s amusement through the pack bond and Anna realized she was giving orders _to_ Bran and hastily added, “We also need to question our guests.” 

“We do,” Bran agreed readily enough and Anna heard a quiet rumble in the words, but it sounded as if his voice held laughter, like Leah’s side of the pack bond, rather than rage. 

She cast her gaze to the other wolf and saw her eyes remained rust colored which told Anna not to trust what she was feeling at the moment. Leah might be doing her best to quell the wolf, but she was failing inch by inch. “Please send away all, but Tag and Asil.” Bran’s brows rose with her suggestion and she felt Charles’ displeasure and rejection of her request before she rolled her eyes and added, “And Charles too. Of course.” 

The last bit was tacked on in exasperation and she made certain her mate knew and heard it. Charles was settled by the addition and Brother Wolf was unconcerned either way since he’d never intended to leave her alone with Leah regardless. Anna wasn’t going to roll her eyes at the both of them. She wasn’t. 

“Anna’s choices are acceptable.” Bran announced to the room at large and with an easing of the tension in his shoulders the pack began to do as she requested. Anna watched most of them make their way cautiously outside, but she guessed that they wouldn’t go far. Not that any of them would fare well against Leah in her present condition, but Leah had a soft spot for Tag, like Kara, which was why Anna had chosen him. Leah trusted him—quite a bit actually—and his presence, while dominate enough to irritate, would likely help more than hinder. 

Asil, however, was powerful enough to stand on his own and wild enough that he could cast some insight into what was going on. Anna looked to Dawn and knew most of that insight would come from her, but she also knew to wait until they were relatively alone before addressing that. Once the last wolf, Eric with his belly to the floor, left Asil closed the door behind him, but not before making a snickering sound at his predicament. 

Anna understood the urge so she didn’t begrudge Asil of it, but rather shared a tight-lipped smile with him. Her smiled widened with the sudden surge of jealousy she felt from Charles and she did roll her eyes then. Tag pushed himself up into a kneeling position and when no one growled at him for his audacity he came to his feet in a boneless movement that brought the Other forward, between him and Dawn. 

Charles placed himself at her side as Dawn moved around the Other. “ _It has a name._ ” Anna shared with Brother Wolf who kept nagging her with the fact that Illyria wasn’t Kin and definitely was not human. She was nearly certain the sound he shared in return was a huff that had better not have been in annoyance. She spared Charles a sideways look while continuing to do her best to keep Leah calm. His face was blank and held no answers and his side of their bond was shutting down in preparation of the possible battle to come. 

Dawn cast a considering glance at Charles, but determination brought up her chin and set her mouth in thin line as she took several steps towards them. Bran drew his hands downward, following the line of Leah’s arms until he held her hands a brief—but reassuring if Anna was reading Leah correctly—moment and released her. He turned and placed himself beside Leah, slightly ahead to remind the room’s occupants she was his to protect, but also clearing a path between Dawn and Leah. 

He watched the witch with a considering gaze, which she ignored and crossed the room in a few hurried strides. She was in Leah’s arms with a speed that belied her human nature. Leah grunted with the sudden impact, but buried her face against Dawn’s neck. Anna could felt the contentment Dawn’s touch brought to Leah and a moment passed in which Bran frowned darkly at the pair before Leah pulled back. 

She cupped the taller woman’s face in her hands and smiled up at her with green eyes. The tension left Anna’s shoulders and she allowed her hand to ease away from Leah’s back. The loss of contact caused no change, no change at all, and that had Anna giving Dawn another assessing look. 

Bran broke the quiet in the room with a clearing of his throat before stating, “The dining room has enough chairs to seat us all. Let’s adjourn there,” his mild tone wasn’t reassuring in the least, “We have much to discuss.”

* * *

An oak table, sanded to perfection and oiled to maintain its sheen, dominated the dining room. It had been a gift from a lesser wolf seeking to curry favor with Bran. His negotiation skills must’ve been lacking because Buffy had the sneaking suspicion Bran had declined the request. In the twenty odd years they’d owned the table Bran had dutifully oiled it each spring and that gave Buffy, or more precisely Leah, the theory that he didn’t foresee another gift in the near or distant future. Which meant taking care of it—far better than he’d ever taken care of their marriage—was key to its prolonged survival. 

She ran her fingers along the smooth surface, remembering many a meal alone, and she pressed downward, the skin of around her nails paling. Buffy removed her hands from the table and the temptation to score that unblemished wood. Punishing an inanimate object, when it couldn’t possibly comprehend or deserve her ire, seemed a bit counterproductive and juvenile. Folding her hands in her lap she looked past the object currently in her crosshairs and to the wooden panels that lined the walls. The panels came to waist-level—on all _but_ her— and were white, offset by the green covering the rest of the walls from panel to ceiling. She’d chosen the color because she liked it and not because Bran disliked it—despite what he assumed. 

The ceilings were coffered and the light fixture above the table had been Bran’s choice. It was made of metal and Edison bulbs, spherical in shape and it worked nicely with the rest of the room’s décor. She’d never told him that and Buffy felt the oddest urge to do so, but held her tongue and allowed the silence to reign. Bran had taken his place at the head of the table and she’d claimed the seat to his right with Anna taking the spot on Buffy’s left. She was sandwiched neatly between the two people most capable of keeping her beast in check. It calmed as much as it rankled. 

Dawn sat across from her and Tag had claimed the seat beside her sister after moving the centerpiece of yellow tiger lilies to the far end of the table. It left her with an unobstructed view of his downturned face and Dawn’s considering one. She remembered two hundred plus years of life without her sister. A life that had held its share of ups and downs, emphasis on the latter, but once she recalled life as a Slayer it was as if missing pieces of herself had slotted into place. She’d held an empty space in her heart for so long. Bran had been unwilling to fill it and children had never been possible, but Dawn fit so easily into it—the monks’ interference notwithstanding. 

She gave into her next impulse and reached across the table, mindless of Bran’s growl, and Dawn leaned forward. Their fingers touched and then curled around one another until their nails caught on skin. It felt right and slightly painful, which was right in its own way, and the watery smile Dawn treated her to made her sister appear older. Buffy squeezed tighter before asking, “How long has it been for you?” 

“Two hundred seventeen years, six months and twenty-three days.” Illyria supplied from her place along the far wall. She’d declined to take a seat, but had rather stationed herself at Dawn’s back, her hands resting casually on her thighs as she leaned against the wall. 

The sentry position was not lost on Buffy, or the other wolves for that matter, but rather than concede to the dominating presence the Old One posed she questioned Dawn, “How?” 

“I stopped aging around thirty.” A shoulder lifted and Dawn’s grip on her hand tightened. “No one was sure why.” 

“I suppose the why is redundant.” 

They shared a smile as Anna leaned forward, cautious in joining the conversation, but unwilling to remain quiet once the silence had been broken. “Is it?” Anna questioned, before clarifying, “Redundant I mean.” She made a vague gesture towards Dawn, “The last witch we met that didn’t age…”

Buffy swallowed the growl tickling the back of her throat, but the faint rumble that escaped stiffened Anna’s spine and Bran gave her a sharp look. Forcing her next breath out, silently between her teeth, Buffy closed her eyes and focused on the comforting warmth of Dawn’s hand in her own. Her sister’s skin was damp and she could feel Dawn’s heartbeat through the pulse in the tips of her fingers. The tempo increased, whether because of Anna’s implication or because of her adverse reaction to that implication, Buffy wasn’t sure. Her grip tightened, the sudden movement pulling a startled sound from Dawn and that opened her eyes. 

She sought out Asil, the topic of implied conversation, and found him keeping up his section of the wall just fine. He’d remained standing with Illyria and was closer to the exit than any of them as if he’d leave when the moment suited him. Leah had feared Asil, which seemed the smart thing for a wolf to do, but Buffy couldn’t bring herself to care for him either way. Asil caught her gaze and her beast rose to meet that challenge, but Buffy directed her gaze elsewhere. The growl that echoed in her mind was reminded of the fact that she didn’t _want_ to kill Asil and she did this as her best she could without reaching for her safety blankets, Bran and Anna. 

“She’s not a dark witch,” Buffy assured them while taking her hand back from Dawn. She didn’t trust herself, the beast was too temperamental and her control shoddy at best. Buffy looked to Anna, met her gaze hesitantly before clarifying, “Dawn wouldn’t sacrifice others to gain power.” 

“How would you know? It’s been two hundred years since you last met.” Bran’s question and statement turned her towards him and she opened her mouth to deliver an irritable retort when the truth of his words sank home. 

Buffy exhaled instead and offered him a tired shrug. Bran’s brows drew inward and she knew Leah would’ve snapped at him—perhaps more so because of how right he was—but that wouldn’t help matters, “Damned if I know _how_. But I do know,” was groused at the room.

The lines between his brows deepened with her casual use of a curse, mild or not, and she rolled her lips inward, biting down to suppress a smile. Some of the tension in Bran’s face faded as if she’d done something right. She couldn’t be certain as to what she’d done, because his side of their bond was shut down tight, but her fingers itched with the urge to reach out to him as she had with Dawn and her sister watched their interaction with the oddest expression. 

“She stinks of blood and magic.” 

Tag’s casual observation drew Dawn’s focus and she snapped, “Hey! I stink of no one’s blood, but my own.” Her mouth thinned and her brows tugged downward in a familiar way before she muttered, “And that sounded less psychotic in my head.” 

The utter truth in her words eased something in Tag and Anna, making them less hostile, but still watchful. Asil quirked a brow and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth in an obvious threat. Buffy frowned at him before she noticed Bran watched her sister much the way he’d watch any insolent wolf. He had no claim on her and Buffy’s eyes narrowed, frown deepening, but the scent of meat, raw and annoyingly appetizing, distracted her from the urge to reprimand her mate. Buffy turned, looking behind her to the opening that led into the kitchen and watched Charles enter with a steaming mug and a plate of diced steak. 

Her brows rose at the sight of the mug and she sniffed. The soothing scent of lemon balm tea reached her sharpest sense before Charles placed them in front of her. The meat was ignored as she focused on the tea and caught the sweet honey notes in the scent. Tears gathered in her lashes with the fact that Charles knew which tea she preferred and how she took it. It was also possible Bran had spoken with him mind to mind, but something told her Charles simply knew. That was his way and sometimes it was just as annoying as her preference for raw meat. 

She ignored the echoes of Leah and offered him her gratitude, “Thank you.” 

Tea and meat didn’t warrant the appreciation in her tone and Charles offered her a slight quirk of his mouth before he took a spot along the wall—just as Asil and Illyria had—behind Anna. Buffy could count the number of times Charles had shared with Leah his version of a smile and it tightened something in her chest. Bran nudged the plate closer to her and Buffy blinked away the tears, ignoring the one that slipped down her cheek, before submitting to the inevitable and retrieving a cube. 

It was still cold, but she popped it into her mouth anyway. Dawn’s nose wrinkled in distaste while she chewed and her sister huffed, “Couldn’t you have at least seared that?” 

Buffy ran a quick tongue across the front of her teeth before snapping, “You put anchovies on peanut butter sandwiches.” 

“That sounds wholly unappetizing.” Anna’s quiet agreement earned her a smile and Buffy saluted her with the next bite. 

“It’s not so bad,” Tag offered conversationally, “It’s a French recipe, right?” 

Anna blinked at him and Buffy smiled, it always amused her when Tag surprised those around him. The Omega wasn’t being rude, unlike some members of their pack, but she, like so many others, underestimated him. They saw Colin Taggart’s large body in his ill-fitting cloths—one of these days she was going to burn those Birkenstocks—and didn’t realized his mind was sharper than most. It didn’t help that his hair, brilliant orange and utterly hopeless, was usually held at bay by oversized rubber bands. This did not instill a sense authority or propriety.

Bran’s amusement made her smile widen, because she could feel it through their bond, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Subtle, that move was not, but his quirked mouth made her stomach tighten. This, of course, only made his smile widen and he reached across the table to her. Buffy covered up her hesitation in taking his hand by eating another piece of meat and licking her fingers clean. His head inclined, pale eyes narrowing, and the challenge in his gaze prompted her to slide the hand closest to him into his waiting one. 

“I did have it in France!” Dawn’s excited agreement brought Buffy’s focus back to her. “It had romaine lettuce, anchovies and croutons.”

Tag nodded and Anna shook her head before adding her two cents, “That explanation is not helping any.” 

Buffy took another bite of meat as Charles spoke, voice calm and surprisingly soft, “How is it that Leah had no memory of you until your arrival this day?” 

Dawn looked past Buffy to Charles and she watched her chin lift in answer to his challenge. “Her name is Buffy and she ran afoul a demon.” 

Bran’s hand tightened around hers and Buffy winced before wading into dangerous conversational waters. “My name is Leah also.” She met Dawn’s startled gaze and clarified, “Regaining my memories of you doesn’t negate two hundred years of life. I’ve been Leah a long time.” 

“You are Buffy.” 

Dawn’s certainty made her smile even as Buffy countered with, “I can’t be both?” 

Anna turned to gaze at her, watching her intently a moment before stating. “You’re different.” 

“I am,” Buffy replied, suddenly exhausted. “But at least my beast is still a wolf.” 

She’d meant that last bit, but her uncertainty flavored the words as half-truth and the wolves reacted to it. Anna’s eyes widen, making her freckles somehow more pronounced, and Charles pushed himself off the wall, making his way closer. There was a rumble, the sound of distant thunder, from deep within her psyche and Buffy knew that her beast did not like having Charles at their back. Tag sniffed at her from across the table, but remained seated. 

Bran leaned forward and drew her closer with his grip on her hand. He met her gaze before he gave her face an impartial study that did not help her nerves. His nostrils flared, scenting her before his face angled downward and he buried it against the curve of her neck. Warm breath tickled her skin and the shiver that chased its way down her spine had nothing to do with her beast. Buffy turned her face into his and rubbed her check against his temple. It marked him as hers and had the added benefit of hiding her face from Tag and Anna. 

They, unlike Dawn, could smell her arousal with Bran’s close proximity—very similar to bells and Pavlov’s dog—but they didn’t need to see her blush as well. Bran’s scent, earthy, sweet and oh so powerful, was inhaled and it settled the beast sharing her skin. It was content, for the moment, with their choice in mate and Bran’s heartbeat responded to her attraction. The sudden increase in tempo told her, better than words, at least a part of him wanted her as much as she wanted him. 

“You’re wolf,” his words were abrupt, carrying the faintest growl, and Bran pulled himself back. 

“Why would you think yourself no longer a wolf?” 

Buffy turned, chin catching on her shoulder as she strained to look back at Charles with her hand still safely tucked within Bran’s. “What I was before merged with my wolf.” 

“How did you know…” Dawn trailed off, eyes widening, “You dreamed it.” Buffy nodded, but Dawn was already continuing, “The Slayer Line lost that ability when you disappeared. We thought you dead.” 

“Dead?” Buffy couldn’t help, but scoff. “We both know how well that works where I’m concerned.” 

“We should’ve realized sooner.”

“Two hundred years sooner?” Buffy snapped, so very Leah like, and sighed when Dawn’s flinch. “I’m sorry.” The apology turned Bran’s focus back to her and she ignored it to question, “How is the Slayer Line?” 

“Gone.” Dawn smiled at her look of dismay and shook her head. “Maybe faded is a better word?” A shrug lifted her shoulder. “When the last girl Willow called with the awakening spell died there was no one else. Some believed the line had gone dormant because there wasn’t anything left to fight. You all put quite the dent in the demon population.” 

“ _We_ ,” Buffy corrected, “Put a dent in it.” Her sister smiled at the acknowledgment, but Buffy returned it with a frown. Realizing, belatedly, what Dawn had revealed. “Willow’s still alive?” 

“She was when we left,” Dawn offered, “She and Angel remained behind—”

“I’m sorry,” Anna interrupted and Buffy glanced at her to see Charles watching Illyria, “Slayer line? Demons? _What_?”

“All good questions.” Dawn smiled and appeared to be trusting of at least some of Buffy’s pack as she explained, “Alternate realities.” 

There was a moment of silence before Illyria spoke from her place behind Dawn, “There are an infinite number of alternate universes,” she scoffed, “Your quantum mechanics is not wholly inaccurate when it comes to their many-worlds interpretation.” 

Buffy watched as Illyria received a reaction similar to Tag and smiled. “Careful,” she addressed the wolves’ urge to question her, “When she was human she had a doctorate in mathematics.” 

“When she was human?” Bran enunciated each word and the slowed delivery meant he was trying to refrain from raising his voice. 

“Alternate realities,” Anna spared a glance at Illyria before hastily correcting, “Universes?” She trailed off when Charles settled his hands on her shoulders. She smiled up at him before her eyes widened and she looked straight at Buffy. “Wait!” Buffy raised her brows in question. “Slayer Line and your name is Buffy? Buffy the _Vampire Slayer_? Like that movie from the 90s?”

Bran’s hand tightened around her own and Buffy closed her eyes in embarrassment as Dawn sputtered to life across from her. “What?! There’s a _movie_?” 

She’d seen the movie, unfortunately, several times because Mercy enjoyed it and Bran had always indulged her. Dawn giggled hard enough to snort and Buffy opened her eyes so that she could glare at her sister. She caught sight of Bran’s confusion filled face and knowing he was at least familiar with the film had her muttering, “Dam,” she swallowed the rest of the curse and finished with, “ _Stupid_ D’Hoffryn.”

“D,” Anna cleared her throat, “Hoffryn?”

As casually as can be, Dawn answered, “Wish demon.”

Tag coughed, drawing the room’s attention, “Wish demons?” 

“Demons that grant wishes,” Dawn explained, the laughter sneaking back into her voice. 

“Isn’t that a genie?” 

Dawn shook her head at Anna’s question before clarifying, “They grant wishes, but they tend to twist the wish to make it less fortuitous or to punish someone.” 

Anna turned to Buffy, lifting a hand to settle it over Charles’ as she questioned, “This life is your punishment?” 

Her mouth opened, but snapped shut because she knew they could smell a lie and she didn’t have a counterargument that wasn’t at least somewhat dishonest. Buffy, studiously looking anywhere _but_ Bran, caught Dawn’s gaze and her sister seemed to understand her predicament as the levity fled the room. 

She might’ve managed a reply, eventually, but Illyria chose then to voice her opinion. “I find this world, like so many others, extraneous. This world, this life _is_ retribution.” Her head inclined, mouth curving inward at the corners, “What did you do to merit such a fate?” 

“Illyria,” Buffy warned, her anger bringing the wolf to the forefront. 

A pointed chin dipped, smile slipping away as if it’d never been as Illyria pushed off from the wall with a roll of her shoulders. Brown eyes, paling around the edges, narrowed on the room before they settled on Buffy. “You look as her, but you are not _her_.”

“Familiar with that concept, are we?” Buffy snapped back, embracing the inner bitch known as Leah. 

Her footfalls were silent, swallowed by the common noises of the room, as Illyria stalked forward. She bypassed Dawn to stand closer to Bran and her nostrils flared as she scented the air, much like a wolf, and scoffed, “That which you once were was a power to reckon. A ruler of warriors and feared by those that meant your kind harm. Now you stand beside that power,” her lips curled in distaste and she caught Buffy’s gaze and held it unafraid, “Now you are a kept woman. Weak and inconsequential.” 

“Do _not_ insult her,” and it was Bran’s turn to do the exact wrong thing. 

“Kept,” Illyria reiterated with such disgust that Buffy felt her lips peel back of their own accord, baring her teeth in challenge as Illyria continued, “You are his pet.”

“Illyria.” Dawn’s voice was soft, but still a command, “Enough.” 

Illyria’s gaze dropped to the back of her sister’s head. There was a movement, some subtle shift of her being that had Buffy’s beast surging upward and driving Buffy to her feet. The chair clattered to the floor behind her drawing Illyria’s attention and the room brightened, colors intensifying as the edges blurred and she knew from Leah’s memories her eyes had gone to wolf. 

“Do not threaten, Dawn,” her voice was pitched low enough to hurt, “Your oath to me still stands, Old One.” 

“We shall see,” Illyria’s chin lifted in defiance as she finished with, “I do not revel in your defeat,” before she left the room. 

Asil dipped his chin, body bowing to the room before following her at a much more sedated pace. Tag coughed again and shook his head, dreadlocks catching on the orange and yellow tie-dyed shirt, before he stated, “That was bracing,” and offered Buffy the barest of smiles. He caught her gaze, eyes a clear and soft grey, before he directed them elsewhere. 

“So,” Anna hazard to bring the derailed conversation back on track, “Alternate universes?”


	4. don’t think they could forgive

Title: Give up the Ghost  
Chapter 4: don’t think they could forgive  
Prompt: #449 siege & 451 gemini @ tamingthemuse

* * *

Soapy water sloshed in the baking dish and over the sides as Anna did her best to scrub away the last of the lasagna without breaking the glass. Cheese could be a stubborn thing and she used a thumbnail to scratch at the pieces that clung to the handle. She wasn’t entirely sure how the cheese had gotten up there, but it had and burnt to a cinder. A huff escaped her before she could swallow it, but Charles’ quiet laughter with her antics made smile. She cast her gaze in his direct and that smile grew wider still. 

The corners of his eyes had gathered, his mouth twitching as he turned a plate around in his hands. The towel he’d been ordered to be useful with had been replaced with another as he dried the dishes she’d cleaned. There were very few members of the pack Charles had to listen to—she was pretty certain it was just the one—so Anna thought he’d been humoring Leah when she’d presented him with the towel. Though she _had_ cooked the meal, something Dawn requested, and a little clean up seemed a fitting payment. 

Anna could admit she had her reservations with the beef being replaced by spicy sausage, but it had been tasty. Through their bond Charles had given her the impression Leah wasn’t the best cook and Bran’s hovering, at least at first, implied the same, but half way through the preparation Bran returned from the kitchen. Leah had ordered him out and requested Tag as a replacement sous chef—Anna wasn’t complaining. 

“Think it’ll snow again tonight?” Charles’ amusement doubled with her question about the weather after the discussion they’d had for most of the day in regards to Leah and her past life as a supernatural badass. Charles laughed outright and Anna blushed because she was pretty sure he’d plucked that last bit right out of her head. Instead of giving in to his desire to speak of Leah and things they couldn’t change she prompted, “Well?” 

Rinsing the baking dish, finally cheese free and clean, she awaited his answer and felt that Brother Wolf’s focus was still on the Other. He’d thought of little else and while Anna didn’t blame him it made her wolf anxious and closer to the surface than usual. “Canada doesn’t seem to mind sharing the cold with us early this year,” Anna smiled up at him before handing him the baking dish and Charles added, “But I think we’ll get rain tonight. Not snow.” 

“I like the snow,” Anna confessed, “But I don’t like driving in it.” 

Charles accepted the dish and leaned forward, touching his forehead to the side of her head for a brief moment before agreeing, “Most people in these parts don’t.” 

“Bran doesn’t seem to mind.” 

“You’ve seen Da drive,” was Charles’ counterargument and it made her smile. 

Anna collected the frying pan from the stove, it still smelled of the sausage and onions that had been sautéed in it, and rinsed out their remnants from the bottom. Soap was added and then a bit of elbow grease to get it clean. She’d leave the cast-iron on the stove and allow Leah to clean it as she wished. Anna knew enough about cooking to know soap wasn’t used to clean that skillet, but not enough to know what was actually supposed to be used. The cast-iron had held bulbs of garlic, their tops removed and olive oil drizzled over them before baking. 

They’d been used to create Tag’s version of garlic bread with included smearing the roasted garlic cloves on toasted bread with butter. It’d been a bit much for Anna, but Charles had enjoyed it so she’d made a mental note to ask Tag for the recipe. The wolf in question was currently being given strict orders by Leah—in a tone that implied she was used to giving them—to show Dawn and the Other to the only motel in town. 

Leah might’ve preferred to have Dawn under the same roof as her, but something told Anna that Bran hadn’t been keen on the prospect. He’d also requested Asil keep Kara for the night which told Anna he wanted at least some time alone with his mate. Anna finished the frying pan and moved onto the pot that Leah had used to cook the noodles. She’d mentioned only ever using the oven ready kind and Bran had given her such an aghast look it’d made her laugh and Charles had taken her hand. The memory made her smile widen as she scrubbed.

While Leah and Tag had been cooking Dawn had snuck in a few more colorful stories of Leah’s past as Buffy. Anna, and the others, now knew that Leah could behead someone with an exacto knife and she’d run away to Las Vegas with her boyfriend once. Bran had been impressed with the exacto story, but less than pleased with the story of Oliver Pike. Leah had countered that Dawn’s first kiss had been with a vampire and thus a free-for-all of overshares, as Leah put it, had commenced. The stories had been either hilarious or terrifying—some of them both. 

Anna would’ve thought them tall tales, but Charles and Brother Wolf hadn’t sensed any mistruth or exaggerations for embellishment’s sake. Bran had studied their interaction—quiet and watchful—and Charles had shared with her via their bond that Bran did some of his best interrogations by simply watching the interaction of others. Anna thought he’d learned a whole lot and, yet, still very little which sort of felt right where the sisters were concerned. 

Her hands paused in the sudsy water, startled by the realization that she liked Leah—and Dawn to some extent—and before that morning she hadn’t thought much of her. She caught Charles’ watchful gaze, just like his father, and offered him a timid smile. He returned, but wider. “You allowed to like her. I think she’d prefer it if you did.” 

“I think,” Anna hesitated, but since Charles seemed open to the conversation she hazard, “I think she’d like both of us too.” 

“Leah and I,” His smile fled his face and he grew serious, “We have history—”

“And it’ll take more than a good meal to win him over,” Leah finished for him as she reentered the kitchen. 

“A good meal and pleasant conversation,” Charles offered.

Leah smiled, it looked tired and her shoulders were rolled inwards protectively, Anna was very familiar with that kind of body language. “I can’t remember the last time you and I spoke in a civil way.” 

“Neither can I,” Charles agreed. 

“Christmas,” Bran supplied as he came into the kitchen and settled his hands over Leah’s shoulders, pulling them up and back while rubbing gently. “You were kind and actually tried her attempt at a fruitcake.” 

Anna caught the pinched look that crossed Charles’ face and grinned. “I’m going to assume _attempt_ is the important word in that sentence.” 

“It was hard as a rock on the outside and somehow still had a doughy center.” Leah wrinkled her nose and gave Charles’ a pitying look. “You are a brave man.” 

He inclined his head in thanks and Anna could feel his pleasure with the truth in Leah’s words. She might’ve meant them as a joke, but the fact that she still meant them seemed to matter to Charles. It wasn’t much, but Anna would take it. “We’ve just one more pot to finish and then we’ll be outta your hair.” 

She turned back to the sink and finished scrubbing the residue of the salted-water the noodles had been cooked in. She could hear Leah moving around the kitchen and Bran take a seat at the island behind her. Charles settled himself against the counter, drying towel at ready, as she rinsed out the pot before handing it to him. She put her hands under the spray of water, rinsing them before reaching for a towel of her own. 

Anna turned back to the room to find Leah preparing them a portion of the leftovers. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Leah interrupted her and finished wrapping some of the bread in tinfoil. “I want to. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with taking some for the road. I’d have given some to Dawn, but there are only microwaves at the motel and lasagna tastes best when reheated in an oven.”

“Tag stole the rest of the garlic, didn’t he?” Anna questioned, making her way closer to the island and Leah. 

“He did,” Leah agreed. She seemed more settled after cooking and a day of conversation, but her scent still held that wild edge. Anna was starting to wonder if she’d always smell a bit like Asil now. Leah interrupted her train of thought and offered her a plastic container filled with lasagna and the wrapped bread. She noticed the paper tucked between the two and sent Leah a questioning look. She shrugged before offering, “I asked Tag to write out the roasted garlic recipe. It’s pretty simple.” 

“Thank you,” Anna grinned, accepting the small bundle, and felt through her connection to Charles’ that he took pleasure in her happiness and his surprise that Leah had caused it. 

“ _Buffy_ ,” Brother Wolf corrected in both of their minds. He presented them with the image of the arid desert and it carried with it the wild scent Anna kept picking up on Leah. They shared a look and Charles’ pleasure melted away with thought that Brother Wolf might be right and the mate his father knew was gone. 

Anna bit at the inside of her lip before attempting to school her features as best she could before thanking Leah, “It’s been an interesting day,” she lifted her bundle, “Thank you.” 

Charles’ large hands settled on her shoulders and she leaned into his warmth as he inclined his head to Leah. “Thank you for the meal.” 

“It was surprisingly good?” Her voice was laced with laughter, but the smile Leah spared for them was self-deprecating. 

Anna returned that smile, more tight-lipped than before with Brother Wolf’s correction floating around in her head, as she led them from the kitchen and through the living room. Charles’ hands had slipped away, taking their warmth and reassurance with them. She paused beside the front door and watched Charles’ graciously accept the keys to Bran’s Humvee. Tag had taken Dawn and the Other with him in his own car which still left Leah’s Lexus if they need to go anywhere, but something told Anna that they were in for the night. 

She accepted the kiss Bran placed against her cheek, but Leah hung back, watching their exchange with an oddly blank expression. Anna didn’t smell anything amiss—meaning Leah wasn’t jealous or upset—but there was a tension in her that hadn’t been a moment ago. It was in the set of her shoulders and the lift of her chin and something told Anna there was another battled to come. 

The brisk air settled over them once more as they made their way down the porch and Charles’ warm hand found her own. They walked to the Humvee in silence and Anna heard not a peep from the house. She spared it one last glance before slipping into the passenger side of the box-like vehicle in dire need of a good wash. She mentioned it to Charles and he smiled at her as he backed them out of the driveway and onto the slush covered street. 

Anna waited until they turned off the street Bran and Leah lived on before broaching the question Brother Wolf had raised and she was still a little worried about Bran overhearing. “Do you think Brother Wolf is right?” 

There was a pause as her mate considered the question and Anna smiled because she felt Brother Wolf’s annoyance with it—apparently she was to take his word as gospel. Charles glanced in the review mirror, his knuckles paling as he gripped the wheel too tightly before he released it and sighed, “He’s not wrong very often.” 

“I thought you might say that,” Anna agreed.

“Then why ask the question?” 

The genuine curiosity in his tone had her smiling, despite the topic at hand, “I was hoping I’d be wrong,” Charles shook his head and Anna found herself filling the silence, “Do you suppose remembering a past life is like merging with the wolf? Finding a balance between the two lives?”

Another, longer, pause filled the Humvee and Anna left Charles to his pondering as she turned on the heat. Asil could walk barefoot through snow, but she could not. Anna seemed to mind the cold more than most wolves and it tended to leave her with numb fingers and toes. “A fair analogy, I think. Though we’d likely have to discuss it in depth with Leah to fully understand how the merging works.” 

“Do you think Buffy will be the more dominate personality?”

“I think that’s already been proven.” 

Anna sighed and looked out at the woods surrounding them on either side of the road. “That’s what I’m worried about.” 

“You liked her.” Charles countered. 

“I did,” Anna sighed before directing her gaze back to her mate, “But will Bran?” 

Charles’ brows tugged together and he watched the road a little too intently for a few minutes. The silence wasn’t unpleasant, but Anna became more on edge the longer it lasted until at last Charles sighed and shook his head. “Da’s thoughts are his own. His mate is his own. He’ll do what he thinks is best.” 

“Charles,” Anna countered, “That answered _none_ of my concerns. Though it did raise more questions.” 

“He had his reasons for choosing Leah as a mate.” Charles spared her a glance—which was a treasured thing since he rarely took his eyes off the road while driving—and finished, “He never saw fit to share those reasons with me. Samuel might know, but it’s doubtful.”

Anna hesitated before stating her biggest worry aloud, “Leah had better control of her wolf,” she winced at Charles’ exhale and Brother Wolf’s silence—Brother Wolf was rarely silent while not on a hunt—and questioned, “Is she a danger?” 

“To my Da?” Charles’ chuckle was a dark one and Anna felt the hairs along the back of her neck rise before Charles shook his head and some of what he was feeling melted away. “It’s doubtful and he’s strong enough to keep her from affecting the rest of the pack.” 

Tucking her arms in tight against her sides, Anna attempted to ward off the sudden chill in the Humvee, before asking, “Would you have to do it?” She hesitated before clarifying, “If she’s unable to learn control.” 

“No,” Charles glanced at her and there was a sadness in his eyes, “He’d do it himself.” 

Anna nodded before she directed her gaze towards the windshield as the first sprinkle of rain spread across it. “She’ll learn control. We’ll help her.” Anna nodded, more to herself than Charles, “I’ll help her.” She glanced back at her mate and tapped her temple, “I’m only a brain-call away.” 

“Brain-call?” 

Charles questioned and the laughter in his voice smelled forced to Anna’s nose. She chose to ignore the white lie and embrace his change in topics. “You don’t like? How about mind to mind magic?”

They spent the rest of the drive discussing the merit and pitfalls of any name Anna could conjure for Bran’s ability to speak in the minds of others. By the time they were pulling into the long drive leading to their home Charles’ laughter was real and her cheeks ached from smiling. The Humvee came to a rocking stop and brown eyes left their study of her mate’s profile to see the crowd of cars outside of their home. 

Anna recognized some of them, but three out of the seven were a mystery to her. Charles parked the Humvee behind his truck and Anna could see in the side mirror as Asil exited his vehicle with Kara not far behind. He caught her gaze in the reflection and he glanced towards Kara before lifting a shoulder. Sage stalked her way up Charles’ side of the Humvee with Tag only a few sheepish steps behind. The low set of his shoulders told Anna he wasn’t thrilled that he was there, but someone had insisted. 

“Her stories are not ours to tell,” Anna informed Charles and it was enough of an order to make Brother Wolf happy. 

“Agreed,” her mate murmured before opening the door and Anna followed him out into the brisk night. Together they met with their pack and together they would do their best to assuage their fears and, if Anna had her way, keep Leah’s secrets.

* * *

The cold had crept in with the opening of the front door and lingered long after it closed. Bran listened as the Humvee back out of the drive and pulled onto the main road before he turned back to the room and his mate. Leah knelt beside the ottoman, retrieving the remote that had fallen between it and the couch, before the room was flooded with music—and he used that term loosely. 

Bran’s eyes closed, brow wrinkling with the influx of sound, but the abruptness of the assault had his mouth quirking. Leah was confrontational with the rest of the pack, aside from his sons, but she saved her more subtle slights just for him. Though he supposed subtle wasn’t the right word because they were rarely that, but they could be seen by an outsider as mere mistakes. Leah was called stupid by many, but she had her moments of cleverness—it was a shame they were always wrapped in spite. 

He’d always thought Mercy learned the ins and outs of indirect hostility from watching Leah—not that he’d ever share that insight with either of them—and it made him wonder, not for the first time, if he should’ve allowed Mercy to live with them rather than Bryan and his mate. Leah had been open to the idea. 

She’d wanted children for as long as he’d known her, but he hadn’t trusted her—or himself—with one so young and fragile. Bran could admit, at least himself and while the bond between them was narrowed paper thin, that he’d been more concerned with his own wants, selfish or otherwise, than worrying about Leah’s needs. In the end he’d still grown too attached to Mercy and that attachment had driven a wedge between her and his mate. 

In recent months he’d watched Leah with Kara and had often been reminded of that failing. There was the strong possibility that Leah might’ve smothered Mercy as soon as they’d taught her to speak, but his mate’s acceptance of a teenager and her all her moodiness made him question his past reasoning. He was right in not allowing a teenage Mercy into their home, but a child would’ve likely been more detrimental to him than his mate. 

Leah had always been insipid and vindictive, but these were traits for which he’d grown accustom. A spiteful Leah was par for the course—and nearly comforting—her passive, but obvious, malice was what allowed him to swallow the urge to assert his dominance and instead he settled himself beside her on the couch. 

“You saw me throw away the hummus,” his admission of guilt was ignored which forced him to add, “I’ll pick up chickpeas the next time I’m in town.” 

Silence, blissful silence. 

Bran propped his sneakers on the ottoman, mindless of the dirt, before he closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto the couch. He allowed it rest there as he listened to Leah’s breathing and heartbeat. The tempo was steady, but the pace increased with his close proximity. Bran felt wariness through their bond rather than the attraction he’d stirred in her from time to time during the day and he wasn’t inclined to widen the connection. He’d settle for emotions and snippets of thought rather than opening himself fully to her. 

He’d suppressed their bond as best he could, but his very presence caused the oddest reactions from her and his control still remained her own. Two hundred years as a werewolf and his mate needed a buffer. Some might find that amusing, but Bran knew better and worried over it as he studied his mate with his strongest sense. Her scent was muddled, lost beneath the tinge of dry air and sun-soaked earth. His Leah had always reminded him of autumn, all brisk winds and a cooling earth, but beneath that a musk which marked her as wolf. 

Summer, now she smelt of summer, and Bran’s head rolled towards her, nose twitching as he inhaled, searching for the familiar. Leah’s nose was as sensitive as his and she tended to have a light touch when applying anything with a fragrance. The lotion she preferred, rosewater and vanilla, had faded from her morning application, but her hair was still filled with honey and eucalyptus. 

While these scents were familiar, they were also superficial and he took no comfort in them. He exhaled and opened his eyes to find Leah turned towards him. She watched him, careful and alert, with a stubborn lift to her chin and a wounded gaze. Her features, while still attractive, were devoid of emotion and Bran met her gaze briefly before broaching the subject. “You don’t smell as you did this morning.”

Her nose wrinkled, bringing attention to the dents mirrored at the tip, and Bran squashed the sudden surge of tenderness he felt whenever his mate did something he found endearing. He didn’t have enough left of his heart to risk losing another piece. The remote protested her tight grip with the crack of plastic and the sound brought his focus back to the conversation at hand. He watched her thumb circle the power button and he winced, preparing himself for another auditory assault. 

“Well,” Leah surprised him with the sound of her voice rather than more music, “I’m not as I was this morning, am I?”

It took him a moment to decipher the question. “I suppose not,” he replied, the hesitation thick in his tone, and it sparked an answering aggravation within in his mate. The emotion brought with it her wolf and the familiar mint tickled his nose, but it was intermingled with all the unfamiliar that had become of his mate. “Is it permanent?” 

The remote shattered, pits of plastic and wires scattering across the floor and the both of them as Leah surged to her feet. A well placed kick knocked the ottoman out from under Bran’s feet and slid it across the floor and into the entertainment center. The television rocked, dangerously close to tipping over, but Bran kept his attention on Leah and the rage that ate along his skin. 

“You want her back?” Her voice pitched low, “You _care_ for her?”

“Careful,” Bran warned, his frustration making the word a growl. 

“Funny way of showing it, husband-mine.” He frowned, body slouching further down on the couch as Leah raged—as she often did—above him. “When did you suddenly decide to give a damn?” 

He could forgive open hostility, but direct defiance couldn’t be ignored—mate or not—and her last barb brought him to his feet. Leah’s chin lifted in answer to that challenge rather than backing up, or down, as she usually did when he finally reacted to her taunts. There was no apology in her gaze or meek words seeking forgiveness for losing her temper. Her harsh panting matched his and the eyes that gazed up at him were narrowed and rust-colored. 

“You think she’s gone? Nope,” Leah tapped the side of her head, “still here.”

“You’re not her!” Bran returned her snarl with one of his own. 

“Unfortunately, for the both of us, I am.” She snapped before her voice turned honey sweet, “Perhaps if you could remove your head from your ass for just a moment. You’d notice that!”

Her scent sharpened with her anger, brought with it a citrus edge, and Bran focused on that while doing his best to ignore the insult. The Beast stirred, both in interest and irritation with their mate, and Bran took a step back from Leah. He felt it push at the cage he used to contain it, but ever since Mariposa he knew how flawed that cage actually was and how cunning the Beast could be, but for the moment he seemed more interested in Leah than tearing a bloody trail through Aspen Creek. 

The bond between them snapped into place, the Beast forcing them to reconnect and Bran felt Leah’s wolf snarl to life between them. Its presence resonated in his bones and Bran realized with a wince that Leah’s wolf felt _old_ —not unlike his or Asil’s. The white around her irises became visible and Bran could taste her pulse on her his tongue. She felt the Beast and, for a brief moment, she was the hare skirting across his path as fear stole her breath. 

While Leah wasn’t old enough to know what he was before, she had heard the stories, but as quickly as the fear had come it slipped away. Her wolf wasn’t quelled by his Beast—not anymore—and there was a steadiness in his mate that hadn’t been there before, but he’d grown accustomed to the stubbornness a long time ago. Her mouth quirked, amused by his sudden change in thought, and Bran knew then that she wasn’t Leah, not entirely, but she wasn’t a doppelganger from tales of old either 

“ _I’m missing the beard._ ” She shoved the thought into his mind and it brought with it images from a forgotten episode of Star Trek. The television show she’d bonded with Tag over when he’d declared she couldn’t be all bad if she liked Leonard Nimoy and Leah ended the tirade with what she imagined she’d look like with a goatee. 

The absurdness of it made him smile down at her. The tenderness was back, but Leah caught his hand before he could squash it beneath his will. She gazed up at him, trusting in his control, and interlocked their fingers so that he’d have to struggle to get free. Her mouth curved inward and her gazed dropped to watch the pulse in his throat and she fed one hunger with another as her scent changed, her arousal adding a familiar spicy note. 

Callused fingers caught a lock of hair that had freed itself from her braid and he tucked it behind her ear. His fingers slipped around the back of her neck and she took a step back even as her heart sped up at the feel of his touch. Her eyes closed and he had the oddest sense that she was counting in her head. Bran felt the presence of her wolf lessen—impressive for one as young as she against something as old as it—and the eyes she opened were green. 

A brow arched and she used her grip on his hand to drag him back towards the couch. She sat, tugging him down next to her while she tucked a leg up underneath herself so that they were similar in height while seated. It was dominance move, one Leah had never played with him before, and it inclined his head. “I think we’ve had enough truth for the day.” 

The statement tasted like and order and it cause a note of discord in his reply, “Have we?” 

“I know you prefer the truth. All of it at once,” a shrug lifted her shoulder, “But my control of _her_ is tenuous and my life as Buffy wasn’t an easy one.” 

Bran settled back against the couch, understanding her reasoning, and countered, “I expect I can suffer through a few days of discussion,” he felt the tension fade from her through their bond, “However there will be several discussions.” 

“Most of them will likely end as badly as this one began,” the false note of sweetness was back in her voice, but she spoke only the truth. 

Bran nodded his agreement, “Perhaps because I need to remove my head from ,” he frowned as if he’d tasted something bitter, “my ass.” 

“I sincerely doubt you’d get that done in just a few days of talking,” she smirked, “I mean it’s been up there for centuries.” 

His brows rose towards his hair line, “Leah,” but Bran’s quiet utterance of her name was his only retort. 

Her smile spread wider, completely unrepentant, as she requested, “Sing for me.” 

There was a misleading cheerfulness to her demeanor and Bran relied more heavily on the bond to read his mate. Leah had always broadcasted her emotions, good or bad, but now she seemed focused on putting on a brave front as her wolf pushed at the barriers of her control. He hummed a few chords before slipping into a song he hadn’t sung since a time when he needed to barter for food and housing. It was about change, in life and season, comparing the two in a humorous way. 

Leah settled herself against him and Bran knew, as he’d once had known when the crows spoke to him, that change had come. He didn’t want it, but he knew that life rarely cared about things such as want. He just hoped he didn’t cause his mate more pain when he resisted it—and her.


	5. ready or not

Title: Give up the Ghost  
Chapter 5: ready or not  
Prompt: #452 scullion & 454 outcast @ tamingthemuse

* * *

A sleepless night had left Buffy with the usual aches and pains, but the bruising beneath her eyes had been dealt with using Leah’s stash of cosmetics and a deft hand. Buffy wasn’t sure if the skill had come from her extensive knowledge of how to cover a shiner or Leah’s need to always look her best. Regardless, she’d gotten the job done with little fuss and somehow managed to make herself appear well rested—makeup, in the right hands, was more powerful than magic. 

Her hair, however, had been a process. The sheer amount of time she’d spent with the hairdryer meant she was stylist bound the very next chance she got. Leah had kept it long because Bran liked it that way, but Buffy thought her opinion mattered a whole hell of a lot more than Bran’s when it came to how she looked. She just had to play nice with Sage to talk her into divulging where she went to get her hair done, all snippiness aside, Sage had fantastic hair. The trick would be convincing the other wolf to do something her alpha wouldn’t like _and_ that Buffy was doing it for practical reasons—not out of spite. 

For now her hair was draped over her shoulder in a fishtail braid. It’d been Leah’s knowhow that had gotten it done, knotted hair and frustration had always come from her own attempts, but Leah had lived in a time when waking in the predawn hours with barely a light to guide her was the norm. Buffy had found her fingers moving of their own accord once she’d settled on the style. 

Raiding the closet had been next on that morning’s agenda and after dressing Buffy had been left with several neatly folded piles of donation ready clothes. Most of Leah’s wardrobe was salvageable, but nothing was going to get her back into the tracksuits she owned—emphasis on the past tense—in abundance. It was time she stopped dressing as if she were Bran’s mother. If he wanted to play the eternal teenager she’d do her best to make it look as if he was dating out of his league rather than out of his age group and something about that left her feeling smug. 

Layering a light denim shirt over dark skinny jeans was not something Leah would’ve attempted and Buffy had paired the ensemble with ankle boots and a burgundy scarf. She’d taken a moment to search a few fashion websites before getting into the shower that morning. The times had changed outside of Aspen Creek and she intended to keep up with them from that moment forward. She was also well aware that she was focusing on the inconsequential to distract herself from the constant presence of the beast in her gut and Bran in her head. 

She needed—not wanted—his control to keep that snarling part of her under wraps, but his beast might’ve taken too keen an interest in her own. The part of her that was all Leah was thrilled by the prospect that their mate was noticing them, but also pissed that it’d taken him this long and a crisis to give a damn. Her irritation only fed her beast and Buffy adjusted her earrings before leaving the relative safety of the bedroom in search of her mate since closer proximity tended to help—even when she was annoyed with him. 

The scent of bacon drew her down the hall and towards the kitchen. Bran hadn’t been awake as long as her, but she’d heard him puttering around when she’d gotten out of the shower. She found him in the center of the kitchen. It had always been his domain, which is why she’d taken such petty joy in tossing him from it last night, and Buffy had the oddest sensation that she wasn’t welcome. Her chin lifted, shoulders rolling back as she forced her way past that inkling and herself into the kitchen. That seemed to settle her beast—who welcomed all challengers. Including, or perhaps especially, her mate. 

Bran’s back was to her and his nicely shaped shoulders were covered by a threadbare t-shirt that might’ve been navy at one time, but had long ago faded to grey. The seams had paled to white from too many washes and his bare feet scrapped over the stone floor as he turned around and the sight of his face, even pinched in concentration, made her stomach knot. Buffy glanced down at his chest, choosing for the moment to ignore his annoyingly good looks, and noticed that there had been writing on the front of the shirt at one time, but they’d been worn to just indents in the fabric. 

“Help yourself.” He took her in with one quick sweep of his gaze before he motioned to the plate of bacon already on the counter. “You need to eat.” 

“Have I ever told you what a turn on it is when you order me around?” Buffy inquired as she finished making her way to the island at the center of the kitchen. 

Pale eyes narrowed and she raised a brow in answer to that challenge before Bran sighed, “Do I need to teach you how to smell a lie? Again?” 

“Do you need to relearn sarcasm?” Buffy smirked and accepted the invitation of bacon since she was hungry and _not_ because he’d ordered it. Bran shook his head and went back to the griddle taking up half the stovetop. Snagging a crispy piece Buffy inclined her head at the oddly shaped pancakes Bran was making before offering, “Need any help?” 

He glanced back at her and Buffy noticed he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. “The potatoes need peeling.” 

“I’m back to scullery work already?” She crunched her way through the slice of bacon as she made her way over to the stove to retrieve the peeler before dragging out the trashcan. 

“I liked your lasagna,” Bran offered and her brows rose, but he finished the thought with, “I just can’t trust you with pancakes again.” 

“One little fire,” Buffy sighed.

“One little kitchen remodel.” Bran countered. 

She scoffed to cover her snort of amusement before snagging herself another piece of bacon and munching as she gathered the freshly washed potatoes from the sink. “Are you making hash?” 

“Home fries,” Bran looked back at her, “I can make hash for dinner.” 

Buffy stiffened with the offer, but saw through the ruse. “Intending for us to be talking all day again, do you?”

“You’ve got a lifetime worth of stories to share,” Bran turned back to the stove and what looked like Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes. 

“Over several days,” Buffy countered as she began short, sure strokes to remove the skin from the first potato. “As we discussed last night.” 

“Careful,” he stated, his back still to her, “You lost the tip of your finger the last time you used a peeler.” 

“It was the tip of my nail and a little bit of skin,” Buffy huffed and returned to her peeling. Leah would’ve put up a fuss at being given such a task—which would’ve distracted her—but Buffy was nearly certain the accident Bran spoke of hadn’t actually been an accident. They worked in relative silence for the next several minutes as Buffy made her way through the potatoes with one of the songs she’d been listening to the day before stuck in her head.

Charles and Anna were going to pick up Dawn and Illyria on their way to Bran’s for breakfast. She’d been told as much through the door of her bedroom while she got dressed and she was starting to regret her choice in attire since the scarf kept getting in her way. Since it was the statement piece of the ensemble she refrained from removing it and instead worked around it, but kept a careful eye on her finger placement. 

“What are you humming?” 

Buffy blinked, confused by the intrusion on her menial task and she glanced up to see Bran plating what looked to be his forth batch of pancakes. “Huh?” 

He added more batter to the griddle and questioned, “You’re humming. What song is it?”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Buffy assured him and went back to peeling the potatoes, “It’s from this decade.” 

“Try me.” 

She raised a brow at her own hands and then realized Bran couldn’t see it so she presented him with her bemused expression. “You want me to sing?” 

He watched the bubbling of one of the pancakes a moment before stating, “Why not?”

“Because you’ve made it abundantly clear over the years that I _can’t_ sing.” 

“You can sing,” Bran countered and flipped the rest of the pancakes before turning around so that he could see her fully as he finished, “You just can’t sing the songs you choose to sing.” 

The other brow rose to meet its sister and Buffy simply stared at him. He crossed his arms—which made him look utterly ridiculous with his batter-covered spatula—and leaned against the counter as if he had all the time in the world. “Your pancakes will burn.” 

“ _Your_ pancakes would burn.” Bran countered.

Thrusting her bottom jaw forward and narrowing her eyes, Buffy glared at Bran while he continued to watch her, but the crunch of tires over slush stopped her from having to respond. Bran glanced towards the front of the house before shaking his head and Buffy got the nagging suspicion he thought her a coward. A hurt pride and the fact that she knew he wouldn’t like her musical choice gave her the gumption to sing the first verse, “ _So much pressure, why so loud? If you don’t like my sound you can turn it down._ ” 

Bran spun back around, his gaze wide and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth so she continued with only a little hitch in her breath. She saw his brows pinch with her use of the phrase ‘ _braggadocios_ ’, which made her smile and through their bond she felt encouragement, but mostly amusement. 

It gave her the courage to continue when the front door opened and, unsurprisingly, it was Anna that slipped easily into the song with her on the chorus. “ _I still fall on my face sometimes and I, can’t color inside the lines. Cause I’m perfectly incomplete. I’m still working on my masterpiece._ ” 

Bran’s enjoyment with the melody—if perhaps not the song—had Buffy blushing and she chose to then to stop. Anna settled herself beside her bundled warmer than most wolves against the cool weather outside and Buffy shared a smile with her while Dawn watched them. “This group sings a lot,” she offered as explanation while Anna busied herself removing her coat.

“It’s not that,” Dawn shook her head, “It just that I don’t think I’ve heard you sing since Sweet.” 

“Let’s save the singing demons talk for after breakfast.” Buffy looked to Bran and narrowed her eyes, but masked the challenge with a question, “How do you want these cut?” 

His brow rose—he’d caught the challenge regardless—and he returned to his pancakes to remove the current batch from the griddle before he turned back around. His head inclined as he studied the twelve freshly peeled potatoes a moment before finally settling on, “Cubed. About the width of your thumb.” 

Buffy nodded her agreement as the fine hairs along the back of her neck rose and her beast reminded her of its presence with a tugging in her stomach as Illyria entered the kitchen. Buffy tracked her out of the corner of her eye as the Old One made her way through the room and took a place at the dining table. A growl vibrated her sternum and it startled Buffy to realize it was her own and that she did not like having Illyria directly at her back. Buffy felt Anna’s hand cup her elbow as Charles made his way through the kitchen to settle himself between the two rooms—apparently she wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy about Illyria. 

The Old One had chosen Dawn’s seat from the previous day, Buffy was surprised she hadn’t claimed Bran’s, but that seat allowed her an uninterrupted view of the kitchen and its occupants. Perhaps the wolves weren’t the only ones who were uneasy, but Illyria had always been hard to read. Buffy caught Charles’ gaze and nodded to him. He appeared, at first, surprised by her gratitude—if the slight widening of his gaze was anything to go by—before he inclined his head in acknowledgement. 

The movement reminded Buffy that her stepson’s face was all sharp angles and cheekbones. Leah had always feared Charles—unable to see him as anything other than his father’s monster—but Buffy had once been the thing monsters feared and Charles didn’t strike her as all that frightening anymore. Anna’s touch drew her back from one too many epiphanies and she could see the Omega studying her with open curiosity. 

Buffy extracted her arm from Anna’s grip with an encouraging smile, it was returned, and she looked to Dawn, taking in her oversized sweater and jeans, before making her way to the sink to drop off the peeler. Bran, who had been watching their interactions, returned to griddle and added more pancake batter as she retrieved a knife and a cutting board from the cabinets. 

Anna made her way closer to Charles as Buffy returned to the potatoes and caught Dawn’s gaze. “You changed your clothes?” 

“I do that,” Dawn agreed, “I’m known for it actually.”

Bran’s lips quirked and Buffy could feel his amusement with the fact that someone was giving her the sarcastic treatment—he’d learn soon enough that it was a family trait. “I mean. You didn’t have luggage with you last night.” 

“Magic,” Dawn wiggled her fingers in front of her, “It’s a simple enough spell that involves pocket dimensions and my blood.” 

Fear tightened her chest as her heart surged to life in a tempo that stole her breath. Buffy bowed her head as she allowed the memories of Glory, a bleeding Dawn and a leap that ended to her life to pass through her. She tried her best not to hold onto any particular memory as she’d done a few times last night. Holding onto them led to panic attacks while her beast rose to protect her from the past. They’d started with nightmares, but stuck around during the light of day. 

She’d lost time because Bran was suddenly beside her and his arms wrapped around her. He pressed her head to his chest and she listed to his heart beat a similar rhythm against her ear. She realized, belatedly, he was still getting an echo of her emotions. Bran was clever enough to have thinned their connection after the first onslaught, but he wasn’t immune to them. Good, and just a little satisfying, to know. 

Buffy inhaled the scent of burning. Her nose wrinkled as she watched Anna make her way to the stove, but it was too late. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as Buffy reminded Bran, “What was that about _me_ burning pancakes?”

Irritation churned in the connection between them before relief with her wellbeing won out. A snarl reminded her, even while Bran held her, that her beast was awake and clamoring for her attention. Buffy attempted to calm it by focusing on Dawn, since she was one thing they were in complete agreement on, and studied her little sister as carefully as the others watched her. 

She looked tired, Buffy decided, as Dawn returned her careful study with one of her own before blue eyes widened, the pieces falling into place. “My magic is fueled by my blood. The more powerful the spell the more blood I have to spill.”

“I don’t like that,” Buffy sighed, settling deeper into Bran’s arms as agitation with that admission drew her beast closer to the surface.

“I didn’t think you would,” Dawn agreed and the smile she offered the room was wistful, “It’s been a good long while since someone cared that much.” 

Anna, her head still down as she removed burnt batter from the griddle, offered, “It sounds like you’ve been keeping the wrong kind of company.” 

Buffy caught the quirking of Charles’ mouth while Bran’s arms tightened around her since Anna was insulting Illyria. Buffy had given him some background on the Old One last night and she knew it disturbed him that she smelled entirely human while making their wolves protest her close proximity. 

“Why don’t we eat?” Charles questioned from his placement between the two rooms. “I have a feeling this is going to be another long day.” 

“Agreed,” Bran ordered and pressed his lips to the crown of her head, Buffy was entirely certain he’d realized he’d done it, before returning to the stove, “I need to finish the pancakes and get the potatoes in the oven.” 

Dawn’s brows rose and she glanced at the food already present on the island. “Are you feeding an army?” 

“We wolves eat a lot,” Anna offered as she took over for Buffy and began cutting up the potatoes, “It has to do with our high metabolism.” 

“Slayers had the same issue,” Dawn looked at Buffy, “This is actually the healthiest weight I’ve seen you at since high school.” 

A quirked brow was her only response to that statement before Buffy snagged another piece of crispy bacon for her and a chewier piece for Dawn. Little sister might’ve whined the previous day about her raw beef consumption, but she’d always liked her meat underdone. It had led to many an upset stomach during her formative years. Dawn accepted the strip and took a bite that made her hum in happiness. “I haven’t had bacon in what feels like ages.” 

“Not since before our travels. Seventy-four years to be exact,” Illyria stated from her place at that table. Buffy paused mid-chew with that admission and Illyria expanded on the statement when she realized she had the room’s attention and Dawn’s glare focused on her. “Though not precise. I have been informed that stating the exact duration of time is off-putting.” Her head inclined and her eyes narrowed on Dawn, but the next statement was directed towards Buffy, “Her sentiment for you kept us going. Dimension to dimension. There was no time to tire of a world before we moved on.”

Buffy looked to Dawn aghast. Quickly, she finished the bite, but winced when the half-masticated piece of bacon went down a bit painfully before she questioned, “Seventy-four years? Dawn, you searched for me for seventy-four years?” 

Dawn stared at her with wide eyes before she swallowed her own bite. “I had nothing better to do?” was paired with a weak shrug.

“Why?” Buffy shook her head, “Why would you waste your life?” 

“Stop! Stop right there.” Dawn snapped and stepped forward to invade Buffy’s personal space as Anna backed up to make room for her. “You are worth a thousand years of searching! You’re my family. You’re all I have left.”

The sadness in Dawn’s admission brought a whine up from Buffy’s chest and it tumbled out her throat. Dawn caught the hand closet to her, bacon and all, and clutched it while she assured her, “You would’ve done the same.” 

“Irregardless,” Illyria interrupted their moment, “Once the journey had begun the only end was you.” Buffy and Dawn turned in unison to see Illyria incline her head. Her brow rose as she in turn studied them, “You were our destination. _You_ are why we exist in this world now.” 

“Disappointed?” Buffy questioned. 

Her gaze took in the rest of the room’s occupants. “You have told your king of me?” 

She nodded. “The cliff notes version.”

Her mouth quirked and it brought Buffy forward, in front of Dawn, as Illyria rose and her human façade collapsed. Her flesh paled, marbling with fissures of blue and silver as her hair straightened and became as patch-worked as the rest of her. Drawing on her memories of communicating with Willow via mind to mind Buffy shared with Bran, ‘ _It’s as hard as it looks_ ,’ and felt his confusion with her ability and then his worry with the admission. Ash was the strongest scent Buffy could decipher before her armor absorbed her clothing, leaching its way forward to cover her from fingers to toes and it held a musty scent filled with old blood and more visceral things. 

She smelt of war—and Buffy wasn’t sure if that thought was hers or Bran’s. 

There was an ache in her bones and the beast within snarled to life as Illyria’s gaze locked with Buffy’s. The fixed pupils had always reminded her of something reptilian while her movements were as awkward as a bird on land. Battle was Illyria’s sky. It was her grace and Buffy felt something settle with the knowledge that the same was true for her. 

Illyria smiled, her teeth bared in challenge, but saw Buffy’s understanding and accepted it. Charles moved between them—he sensed their battle to come—and the gold in his gaze told Buffy he wasn’t as unaffected as his scent made him appear. Bran was a storm at her back and Anna placed herself beside Buffy, but didn’t attempt to touch her or quell her beast. Something told Buffy that was Charles’ doing as well. 

“The gloves are off?” Buffy questioned and her beast added a growled edge to the words. 

“Indeed,” Illyria’s gaze turned to Bran and Buffy braced herself for his wrath since Illyria’s comments tended to be geared towards the derogatory, “I require sustenance and enjoy pancakes. Are they ready?”

Buffy blinked and then frowned, “Huh,” was her only reply because, apparently, even Old Ones could learn new tricks.

* * *

A full stomach was the path towards contentment Anna decided as she hunted down the last of the sausage gravy on her plate with a home fry. Even Charles’ _knowitall_ smirk wasn’t going to ruin her last bite and she consumed it with a happy hum before reaching for her juice to wash it down. Anna settled back in her chair to watch Illyria—Brother Wolf was doing the same, but for different reasons—as she devoured yet another stack of pancakes. She ate with a single-mindedness that bordered on wolf, Brother Wolf _and_ Charles were insulted by that comparison, but there was a dainty quality to her bites that Anna found disturbing. 

They felt like echoes of who she’d once been and Anna wasn’t entirely sure Illyria had ever been anything other than, well, Illyria. It was unsettling to think of her as a person rather than a creature that used glamour as easily as the fae, but she had the oddest assumption that her instincts were correct. Dawn retrieved another slice of bacon from the dwindling pile on the plate at the center of the table, drawing Anna’s and Brother Wolf’s attention. They watched her dip the bacon in what was left of her sausage gravy, eaten with a healthy dose of hot sauce, on her plate and devour it. 

Her fingers were licked clean before she snagged her cup of coffee and downed the rest. It was a casual display ruined by the rapid beat of her heart and the sweat that gave her scent a damp edge. ‘ _Not prey_ ,’ Anna cautioned them both and caught the quirking of Charles mouth, but Brother Wolf _humphed_ at her and returned to his study of Illyria while Anna continued to watch over Dawn. 

Leah was doing much the same from her seat between her sister and Bran. Anna wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought perhaps there was concern beneath all the bluster and casual ribbing the siblings had been treating one another to throughout the meal. Dawn’s auto-response to most inquires seemed set on sarcasm and Leah had welcomed the challenge—though her tendency to restructure words to suit her whim made Bran wince and had caused Charles to chuckle. Once. 

Wood scraping over stone drew Anna’s focus and she watched as Illyria rose from her place beside Charles. “I wish to converse with the green,” her clarification of her actions explained exactly nothing and Anna frowned her at—along with everyone else—as Illyria nodded to Bran. “This meal was satisfactory.” 

“She means that as a compliment,” Leah clarified the wrong part of Illyria’s statement before she inclined her head and ordered, “Try not to kill anyone,” she paused before tacking on, “unless you think it necessary for your continued survival.” 

Gold glinted in Bran’s gaze and Leah’s head swiveled back towards him with an abruptness that startled Anna and told her Bran was likely shouting in his mate’s head. Illyria interrupted their silent exchange, “You presume something of this world could harm me,” her eyes narrowed and those fixed pupils somehow made her gaze more menacing, “You insult me.” 

“Or,” Leah countered, sparing Bran a triumphant look, “I’m attempting to trick you into agreeing _not_ to kill anyone.” 

“Subterfuge,” Illyria spat the word. 

“We can’t all be infallible god-kings,” she frowned at Bran, “Or a Marrok,” before turning back to Illyria, “Don’t kill anyone. I mean it.” 

The order, like the banter, was delivered in a honeysweet tone, but the steel buried beneath all that sweetness was not lost on any of them and, Anna thought, it might be there because Leah half-expected Illyria to disobey at the first opportunity. There was an undercurrent of violence to Illyria that reminded Anna of Asil at his most crazed, but Charles corrected that thought with an unpleasant reminder of the destructive force his father could become. 

Anna shivered with the comparison, wondering if this was one of those times in which Charles simply knew something or it was because he saw something in Illyria Anna didn’t, either way it didn’t bode well for any of them. The rest of the table remained quiet as Illyria stiffened beneath the order—perhaps feeling the weight of a dominant wolf’s will for the first time—and her human façade rolled back into place with the whisper of scales over stone. 

The sound made her stomach tighten and Charles straightened in his chair, preparing himself for an attack, as the scent of carrion faded to be replaced by lavender. Illyria could hide her scent better than any fae they’d encountered and it made Brother Wolf uneasy. Anna was more concerned with the fact that Illyria’s presence faded—the heavy weight of it had nearly proven her mate’s distrust of her—and that her gaze remained trained on Leah. 

Anna recognized that look as one of predation, but she was uncertain if Illyria considered Leah her prey or another predator in her territory. Rather than rising to the challenge, as Leah had with Bran so many times in the past, she merely picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. 

Anna’s nose told her that Leah wasn’t unaffected by Illyria’s challenge, but her scent didn’t hold the traces of acidity that Anna usually associated with fear. Charles was still doing his best to teach her to lead with her nose, but she watched Leah return the cup to the table under Illyria’s steady gaze as the rest of the room’s occupants awaited the outcome of this display of dominance. While Leah hadn’t met Illyria’s gaze, Anna didn’t believe she was losing and Bran’s relaxed pose gave credence to that assumption. 

‘ _Mate_ ,’ Brother Wolf’s voice filled her mind, clearer than Bran’s and twice as comforting, ‘ _you are not wrong_ ,’ and Anna felt a kernel of respect forming in Charles for Leah. Its presence lessened some of the unease that had been stirring in her since their conversation last night. They’d done their best to alleviate the pack’s fears—Asil had been surprising helpful in that regard, but Kara’s attendance had likely contributed to his helpfulness—now Anna just had to convince Bran that the changes in Leah were good ones to be nurtured. 

A plan of action allowed her to refocus and she felt Charles’ curiosity with her sudden intensity, but Anna chose to focus on Illyria as the humanity she wore slid back into place and the tension drained away. Her head inclined, softly curled hair curtaining her features and playing down their sharpness as her mouth quirked. “I have missed you.” 

The admission drew Leah’s gaze to hers, they met briefly before Leah directed it elsewhere, “I didn’t,” her smile was tired, “But then I wasn’t entirely myself.”

“No,” Illyria retorted with a smugness that stiffened Leah’s spine, “You are not.” 

She left them—apparently she enjoyed getting the last word as much as Bran—heading into the kitchen. Anna heard the back door open and close while Leah stared at the place she’d vacated before she turned that considering gaze on Dawn and raised a brow, “She can converse with plants?” 

Again not the statement Anna wanted clarified, but Dawn’s uncomfortable shifting and the sharpening of her scent told Anna it was the right question to have been asked. The witch snagged another piece of bacon and tore it into pieces, spreading them across her plate. The silence around them thickened and Anna expected Leah, or Bran, to break it and demand answers, but they remained patient. Dawn eventually lifted her head and popped a piece of bacon into her mouth. 

“She can,” her head dipped, chin towards her chest as she picked up another piece, “she can also bend them to her will.” 

“Plants?” Anna couldn’t help, but question. “How is that helpful?” 

“Think of her as a plant alchemist.” Dawn ate the piece of bacon, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts before she continued, “There was this weeping willow she imbued with her essence once and something tells me it and its descendants are going to be causing trouble for anyone that comes near them for a very long time.” 

“Wonderful for the tree,” Leah leaned forward, pushing her plate to the side as she caught Dawn’s gaze and held it, “I’m more interested in how she’s able to do it. Illyria had lost that power before she’d even come to us. What else has she gained back?” 

“She can alter time to some extent.” Anna stiffened at Dawn’s admission, but before anyone else could comment she strived onward with her explanation. “It costs her. Usually she loses consciousness shortly thereafter and you know how she feels about sleeping.” 

“Do I?” Leah questioned. 

“It’s beneath her,” Dawn rolled her eyes, “Technically we’re all beneath her.” 

“Not the point,” Leah shook her head, “How did she get her powers back?” Dawn flinched and ducked her head. “ _You_?” Leah snarled, rising to her feet, “Dawn, how could you? You know her goals.” 

“To conquer all and live forever.” Dawn’s tone matched her sisters, but she remained seated as she argued, “Do you see her conquering much?” 

“Is she a danger to us?” Anna broke into their conversation. “To the pack?”

“Best they keep their distance.” 

“Not unless they piss her off.” 

Dawn and Leah responded in tandem before pausing to look at one another, but it was Dawn that shook her head and continued, “It happened while we were looking for you and if it hadn’t we’d be dead several times over by now.” 

“You were right,” Leah turned tiredly to Bran and Anna frowned when she noticed the circles beneath Leah’s eyes. They’d been hidden beneath her makeup, but the tone of the current conversation had highlighted how drained she must feel, “We have a lot more to discuss.” 

“We do,” Dawn agreed casting a mutinous look towards Bran, “But first I need to have a little chat with your mate.” 

Bran frowned—likely because Dawn had directed the request to Leah rather than Bran himself—before he gave a resigned sigh and questioned, “Privately?”

Charles stiffened beside her and Anna inclined her head with Bran’s suggestion since she knew he couldn’t abide a witch. That meant he wanted time alone with Leah’s sister and Anna wasn’t entirely supportive of the concept. Charles’ unease meant he shared her fears and Leah was watching Bran with an expression that Anna found somewhere between grateful and worried—Anna didn’t fault her the caution. 

“Preferably,” Dawn replied in a tone that somehow matched Bran’s perfectly and Anna caught Leah’s head shake out of the corner of her eye. 

“If one of you kills the other,” Leah cautioned, her smile more of a baring of teeth, “The survivor has to deal with me.”

Anna smiled, she couldn’t help it, and Charles settled some with Leah’s attempt at levity. He leveled his most impressive stare at Dawn—one that had frightened many a crazed wolf—and smiled. “Agreed.” 

Blue eyes widened and Dawn’s heartrate surged, but her tone was bland as she countered, “Scary,” those eyes narrowed and flicked towards Leah, “She’s scarier though.” 

Bran rose and did something that called the rooms attention to him rather than Dawn. Anna thought it was a Marrok thing and Charles’ watchful gaze made her think that assumption was an accurate one, but she was starting to wonder at Dawn’s ability to stand up to the two most dominant wolves in their pack. She watched the odd pair leave, heading towards Bran’s study with some trepidation. Charles’ warm presence at her side almost made her believe things would work out alright in the end—she was just a little concerned not everyone was going to make it to end of this alive. 

“Da ordered the rest of the wolves to give Illyria a wide berth,” Charles stated suddenly and with about as much emotion as Dawn had mustered when she’d challenged him with Leah. 

“If only we could order Illyria so thoroughly,” Leah stated in a wistful tone as she glanced around the table, “Help me with the dishes?” 

It was a request and one made with her gaze directed downward as she started to gather said dishes. Dawn might not have realized what she was doing when she’d made her comment to Charles, but Leah had and, it appeared, if Charles allowed it she was going to ignore the gauntlet thrown before an older wolf with excellent control. While Brother Wolf was more interested in testing their merit against Illyria, Dawn’s suggestion that Leah was somehow more dangerous than them had intrigued him and he was now curious enough to test the theory. 

However, Charles was unwilling to frighten or harm his father’s mate and chose instead to turn his lightening gaze downward, like Leah, and Anna settled a soothing hand on his wrist. Tension sang up his arm and brought the muscles to the forefront as she felt Brother Wolf’s irritation with Charles for taking their eyes off an opponent. Her mate lifted his gaze to Anna and she saw the golden hue before she chided Brother Wolf for allowing a few spiteful words to stir him up. 

‘ _Truth_ ,’ was thrust into her mind a snarl. 

Anna tightened her grip on his wrist while she reminded the both of them, ‘ _Just because Dawn believes it to be true doesn’t mean Leah does,_ ’ and released them. She took a step back and started to gather up the dishes with Leah. 

‘ _Buffy_ ’ Brother Wolf corrected with an exasperated huff and Anna knew he thought of her as two separate people now. Leah had been below his acknowledgement, someone to be tolerated and little else because of his respect for Bran, but Buffy was someone else entirely to him—powerful in her own right and worthy of his notice. 

Charles was startled into inaction by Brother Wolf’s revelation and he stood motionless as Leah, her gaze still averted, broached the subject at hand. “I’d rather not play a game of one-upmanship, if that’s alright with you?” 

She brought her stack of dishes into the kitchen, Anna following behind and Charles brought up the rear as he agreed in a conversation tone, “It would end badly.” 

“It would end in death,” Leah turned then, chin rising as she met Charles’ gaze and held it, “Mine or yours.” 

Anna felt, more than saw, Charles’ surprise with Leah’s admission and Brother Wolf was smug in both their minds. “Is that how it would end?” Charles questioned, his voice tinged with only a slight rumble. 

“It would,” their gazes held as Leah confessed, “She is strong and uncompromising.” 

“Most wolves are,” Anna interrupted, drawing their focus away from each other and to her and she drew on her wolf to keep from shivering beneath their combined gazes. “I’ve come to realize.” 

Leah smiled, it softened her gaze and she kept it that way as she agreed, “I think you’re right.” 

“She usually is,” Charles added a put-upon sigh to his statement that made Anna roll her eyes and Leah stare up at in him wonder. 

“I was hoping to ask a favor,” the request was offered in a timid voice before Leah sighed and finished stronger with, “rather than cause the shedding of blood.” 

Leah left Charles to deal with the last bit without her to glower at by giving him her back—which was an insult in and of itself—and Anna moved between them to give Charles a chance to gather himself and Brother Wolf time to come to grips with Leah’s admission. Keeping herself between Leah and her mate, Anna dropped off the dishes and took an inordinate amount of time to collect the freshly scrubbed and dried pans and griddle. Charles emotions were still raging, but his breathing and heartbeat had evened which allowed her to trust his control enough to step away from them to return the gathered items to their proper homes. 

Anna cast a furtive glance at Charles from beneath her lashes and saw that he stood a few feet from Leah, studying the back of her head as she filled the sink with water and a few drops of soap. The dishes in his hands cracked and Anna straightened from putting away the pans to see Charles staring downward and Leah’s spine had stiffened, but that appeared to have been her only reaction as she started to wash the dishes. Anna spared Charles a frown before she returned the griddle to cabinet beside the stove and shut the door with enough force to bang it. 

Charles’ head lifted and the gaze that met hers was human brown and filled with confusion. She cast a pointed look at the broken plates and it spurned him into action. He deposited the pieces of ceramic into the trash before dropping off his silverware in the sink, his close proximity was greeted with a silence from Leah, and he returned to the table to gather more. Anna finished putting away the last pot before grabbing a towel and dried the first plate Leah rinsed off. 

Anna’s curiosity forced her to ask, “What was the favor?” 

“Dishes first,” was Leah’s reply to her question and Anna smiled when she added, “Charles isn’t the only one swallowing their wolf right now.”

“Dominants,” Anna retorted with exasperation and her wolf’s approval. 

Both of them frowned at her and she grinned back at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The song Buffy and Anna sing is Jessie J’s ‘Masterpiece’ and I have no rights to her music, etc. Thank you for reading!


End file.
